r 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^iM4£aC0il£CT 


'JIST  CHALK  WHAT  i   TELL  YER-THFA"LL  FITE." 


A   STORY   OF   WAR   AND   RECONSTRUCTION. 


BRISTLING    WITH 


THORNS. 


By   O.   T.   beard. 


DETROIT: 

THE    DETROIT    NEWS    COMPANY. 

1884. 


COPTBIGHT. 

J.   A.  Marsh,   Detboit. 
1883 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.— The  Imprint  of  the  Die     -           •           .  -         9 

II — A  Cracker  Courtship    -           .           -  -            17 

III.— The  Two  Toads          -           -           .           -  -       25 

rv.— In  Search  op  a  Recruit           .           .  .             39 

Y.— I  WAS  A  Dalton.    I  am  a  Trenhom         -  -       54 

VI, — I  CAN  NOT  Wish  you  Success    -           -  -            66 

VII. — Catastrophe  from  a  Bishop's  Breakfast  -       75 

VIII.— Rock  op  Chickamauga        .           .        .  .             81 

IX.— The  Woman  of  the  Battlefield  •           -  -       95 

X. — News  from  Chjckamauga          -           -  -           110 

XI.— Dat  Fool  Niggah  Jupe        -           -           -  -     114 

XII.— The  Tides!   The  Tides!  -            -            -  -            121 

XIII. — The  Confederate  Deserter          -           -  -      130 

XIV. — He  Stood  Before  Me  and  Called     -  -           136 

XV.— Halt!    Halt,   There!           -           -           -  -      147 

XVI.— Potatoes  and  Onions  Better  than  Preaching      157 

XVII. — Her  Soul  Froze  within  Her        -           -  -     169 

XVIII. — Andersonville      .           -           -           .  .           180 

XIX.— A  Day  of  Horrors 186 

XX.— I  Know'd  Yer  by  the  Prison  Smell  -           196 

XXI. — Uncle  Billy  Done  Come  wid  de  Union  -     209 

XXII.— The  Wreck  op  War       -           -           -  -           226 

XXIII. — Gathering  of  the  Clouds  -           -           -  -     240 

XXIV.— The  1900 -           253 

XXV.— Clouds  Charged  with  Storm        -           -  -     261 

XXVI. — The  Storm  Bursts  over  Slimpton     -  -           271 

XXVII.— If  a  D N  Nig  Vote  agin  us  He  Shall  for- 
ever Die    ------      276 

XXVIII.— The  Coat  Done  Brush'd           -           -  -           288 

7 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEB,  PAGE. 

XXIX.— Post  Oaks  and  Hickories   -           -           -  -     295 

XXX.— The  Tide  of  Passion      ...           -  302 

XXXr.— Only  a  Yankee 313 

XXXII.— Unchained  Tigers           ....  323 

XXXIII.— Mansa's  Fate   -                       ...  -     334 

XXXIV.— Pray  Quick,  Joe!             -           -           -           -  34G 

XXXV.— Thhough  Bramble,  Briar  and  Morass  -  -     354 

XXXVI.— Po'  Jupk!             -               -           -           -           -  3G5 

XXXVII.— 'A  Child's  Cry  Louder  than  the  Storm  -     374 

XXXVIII.— A  Voice  from  the  North         ...  890 

XXXIX  —What  will  the  People  Say?         -  -      398 

XL.— Daughter  op  a  Slave  -             ...  406 

XLI — Something  Better  th.vn  Prejudice         -  -     420 


BRISTLING  WITH   THORNS. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE    IMPRESS    OF    THE    DIE. 


The  Confederacy  was  organized.  A  passionate  protest 
styled  itself  a  nation.  Mississippi  furnished  it  a  head.  Fire- 
eating  Mississippians  were  enraptured.  They  hailed  it  as  the 
dawn  of  a  revolution  that  would  fling  the  "  mudsill  "  and  the 
slave  in  the  wallow,  sceptre  the  master  class  Avith  a  lash,  and 
place  "gentlemen  "  in  command  of  the  world..  Such  was  their 
dream  of  a  golden  era.  Among  all  Mississippians  none  were 
more  enthusiastic  than  Walter  Trenhom. 

Trenhom  was  an  impression,  the  society  about  him  the 
stamp. 

Begun  before  he  could  remember,  continued  without  inter- 
mission, the  imprint  was  strong  and  deep;  the  work  of  a  clear 
cut,  purposeful  die. 

For  more  than  a  year  past  every  public  gathering,  every 
drawing  room  of  this  State  was  a  mouth  of  reviling  and  denun- 
ciations, flinging  its  venom  of  utterance  at  everything  north- 
ern or  national.  It  was  a  torrid  atmosphere  of  hate  and 
delusions,  deepening  the  imprint  of  Southern  thought  on  the 
mind  of  Walter  Trenhom. 

The  voices  penetrated  his  ear. 

He  became  a  cavern  of  echo.  He  sneered  at  the  Yankee, 
despised  the  laborer,  worshipped  "king  cotton,"  propugned 
State's  rights,  and  glibly  asserted  the  omnipotence  of  the 
South.  Trenhom  belonged  to  a  fighting  family.  His  grand- 
father was  a  distinguished    soldier    of   the    revolution.     His 

(9) 


10  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

lather    sustained  a  heroic    part   at   Chepultepec    and   Cheru- 
busco. 

With  two  generations  of  fame  inviting  him  to  emulation, 
and  an  inheritance  of  hot  blood  to  push  him  on,  it  was  impos- 
sible that  he  would   remain  inactive  in  the  midst  of  conflict. 

He  was  at  Slimpton  when  the  first  note  of  battle  reached 
him. 

During  the  preceding  six  months  there  had  been  warm 
contestation  as  to  the  relative  merits  of  Stanmore's  three-year- 
old  filly  and  Oglehope's  half  Arabian  colt,  and  it  was  to  be 
settled  on  the  mile  of  straight  away  road  ending  at  Sol.  Bur- 
ty's  grocery. 

The  neighboring  planters  all  gathered  to  see  the  sport  and 
look  through  the  bottom  of  Burty's  glasses.  Burty's  bottles 
were  in  demand;  the  planters'  loose  change  flowed  in  a  prodi- 
gal stream  over  his  counter;  bottle  turners  became  exhilarated; 
eyes  flamed,  tongues  loosened,  and  Burty  was  happy.  The 
contending  racers  were  sent  uj:)  the  road  to  the  starting  point. 
Half  way  up  a  horseman,  hat  in  hand,  dashed  by  them  at  mad 
gallop.  Tlie  crowd  in  the  store,  hearing  the  heavy  beating  of 
the  horse's  hoofs  and  the  frantic  bellowing  of  the  excited 
driver,  ran  out  into  the  road.  The  horse  paused.  The  rider 
was  ofi".  It  was  half  a  tumble,  half  a  leap;  but  he  stood  on 
his  feet  in  the  midst  of  the  wondering  crowd,  screaming  with 
the  lustiness  of  a  sturdy  pair  of  lungs. 

*- Sumter!     Sumter!     Sumter!     Huy-y-y-agh! " 

"What  is  it,  colonel?"  asked  Col.  Bartdale. 

"Hoop!     Hoop!     Hoop!"    shouted  Col.  Crabtree  —  for  it 
was   he   who  did  the   riding  and  shouting.     "  Sumter,    huy 
y-a-y-h!" 

"  Took!"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Captured!  "  cried  a  dozen  more. 

"  Keflumexed  !  " 

"  Wallopped  !  " 

"  Took  !  Burned  !  "  shouted  Crabtree.  "  Hoop  !  Hoop  ! 
Ho-oya-a-li — !  "     Then  he  paused  for  breath. 

"  H-o-o-y-a-a-h  !  "  screamed  the  excited  crowd  in  mad 
chorus.     They  flung  their  hats  in  the  riir;  they  embraced  in 


THE    IMPRESS    OF    THE    DIB.  11 

couples,  in  threes,  in  fours;  they  yelled;  they  grasped  hands, 
slapped  each  other  on  the  back,  threw  their  arms  about  one 
another's  necks;  they  danced;  they  leaped;  they  shouted 
until  exhaustion  brought  their  delirium  of  joy  to  a  pause. 

In  front,  of  Burty's  bar  the  crowd  pressed  about  Crab  tree 
for  details. 

The  questioning  of  the  crowd  and  Crabtree's  answers  ran 
like  this  : 

"An'  hit  surrendered  fo'  shoa?" 

"True's  shootin'." 

"  Yer  say  it  was  burned?" 

"  To  a  cracklin'." 

"Burn  the  Yanks?" 

"No!" 

"  Dad  fetch'd  ef  'tain't  a  pity." 

"  Dog  gawn'd  shackelty  coots  !  they'd  ort  to  jest  flung  'em 
in. an'  burnt  'em  up." 

"  Did  they  make  much  of  a  fight?" 

"Yanks  fight?" 

"Bah;  they  ain't  a  chick-a-dee's  fight  in  the  whole  bilin' 
of  'em." 

"  And  you  say  they  let  'em  go  nawth?" 

'-  Yes  l"" 

"Ratted  shame;  ort  to  put  chains  on  'em  an'  toted  'em 
round  for  a  circus." 

"  What  do  the  Yanks  say?" 

"  They  talk  of  war  !  "  Crabtree  replied.  At  this  the  crowd 
laughed  uproariously. 

"  The  idea  of  a  sniveling,  canting,  clock-peddlino-  Yankee 
fighting  !     'Tain't  in  'em,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  group. 

"  But  they  will,"  spoke  up  a  voice  at  the  end  of  the 
counter.     It  was  '•  Uncle  Jack  "  Backfole  who  spoke. 

"Uncle  Jack"  was  a  character.  The  owner  of  twenty 
negroes.  Tall,  gaunt,  strong  as  an  ox,  with  a  seamed  face  the 
color  of  tobacco  juice,  and  the  best  rough  and  tumble  fighter 
in  the  county  until  after  he  had  passed  his  first  half  century. 

"  Pshaw  ^!  "     "  Fudge  !  "     "  Fight  !  "     "  Boo  I  " 

"  I  fout  with  'em  in  Mexico  'n  seed  'em,"  Jack  persisted. 


12  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  That's  when  they  had  Southern  gentlemen  with  them  and 
to  lead  them." 

"  Mout  be  !     But  jist  chalk  what  I  tell  yer — they'll  fite." 

"Whip  'em  with  rotten  pawpaws  !  " 

'*  Yaas,  but  they  uns  don't  fite  that  way  !  " 

"  You  Uncle  Jack  !  Drat  it !  You  ain't  agin  ver  country, 
be  ye  ?  " 

'■'  No,  1  hain't.  I'm  for  Massisip  agin  the  world.  But  don't 
you  go  to  foolin'  yuself  on  soft  hoein'." 

"Hole  'em  like  coons.     Shoa." 

"  Yaas;  but  when  ye  go  fer  the  hole  jist  look  out  fer  wile 
cats."  Uncle  Jack  poured  his  "  dryso  "  down  his  throat,  laid 
the  glass  on  the  counter,  placed  his  back  against  it,  and  looked 
over  the  crowd.  Craf)tree  was  nettled.  He  turned  on  Uncle 
Jack. 

"  Wild  cats?  " 

''  Yaas,  that's  what  I  called  'em." 

"  I'd  whip  a  dozen  of  'em." 

Uncie  Jack  bit  a  huge  morsel  from  his  plug  of  twist,  rolled 
it  into  the  side  of  his  jaw,  and  replied  : 

"  Mout  be;  but  dad  fetched  ef  yer  innards  don't  bother  ye 
when  ye  gets  through  with  one." 

"  Gentlemen,"  snorted  Crabtree,  "  do  yeh  heah  Uncle 
Jack?  The  idee  of  a  weasen-faced,  skulkin',  shrinkin'  Yank 
fightin'!" 

"Yaas,  I  say  they'll  fite,"  retorted  Jack,  steadfastly.  , 

"  So  will  any  cowardly  animal  when  cornered,"  interrupted 
Col.  Bartdale.  "  But,  sah,  you  will  find  the  resistance  of  the 
Yankee  to  be  the  kicking  of  a  toad,  sah!  The  squirming  of  a 
sarpent,  sah,  after  youa  heel  is  on  them,  sah." 

"  Yaas,"  retorted  Jack;  "  but  look  out  for  his  ^nap  and  bite 
afore  ye  gets  yer  heel  thar  !  " 

Bartdale  turned  upon  the  speaker.  "  Uncle  Jack,  I  am 
surprised  at  you.  Surprised  at  you,  sah!  The  Southern  gen- 
tleman is  invincible,  sah!  Invincible!  A  half-dozen  South- 
ern regiments  can  stride  over  the  Nortli  at  will,  sah!  Yes,  at 
will,  sah!  From  the  Potomac  to  the  Passamaquoddy,  sah!  To 
the  Passamaquoddy,  &ah  !  " 


THE    IMPRESS    OF    THE    DIE.  13 

"Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  "  shouted  the  excited  crowd. 
''Mebby,  colonel,  mebby!"  retorted  Uncle   Jack;  "but  if 
they  do,  they'll  go  as  prisoners.     Shoa  !  " 

Bartdale   was    amazed    and    excited.     "  Heavens,    Uncle 
Jack  !     You  astound    me.     Astound    me,  sah  !     The  men  of 
the   South  are  accustomed  to  arms  and  to  horses,  sah!     They 
are  the  best  marksmen  and  the  most  expert   horsemen  in  the 
world,  sah  !     They  have   martial    ardor,  sah  !     And  they  are 
daring  and  brave,  sah!     Daring  and  brave,  sah  !     The  most 
patriotic  people  in  the  world,  sah!     They  will  sweep  the  Yan- 
kee  scum.     Yes,  sah,   sweep   the  Yankee  scum  before  them. 
Yes,  gentlemen,  before  them." 
"Hoo-y-a-a-h!" 
"  This  glorious  victory  "  — 
"  Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  " 

"  Is  only  a  foretaste,  a  nibble,  sahs  !  " 
"  Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  " 

"We'll   march  to  Boston,  to  Boston,  gentlemen,  and  eat 
the  whole  apple  there." 
"  Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  " 

"Yes,  gentlemen;  we'll  eat  the  apple  there. ,  We  will  dic- 
tate terms  to  them  there,  sahs  I " 
"  Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  " 

"  With  the  Yankees  at  our  feet,  sahs  !  " 
"  Hoo-y-a-a-h  !     Hoo-y-a-a-h  !  "  ao^ain  screamed  the  news- 
excited,  whisky-maddened  crowd. 

Uncle  Jack  shook  his  head.     "  I'me  with  yer,  boys  !     I'me 
for  Massisip  every  time,   you  bet!     But  I  ain't  no  dawg  awn 

fool.     You  fellahs  think  ther  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  showah  " 

"  Not  much  !  " 

"  You  jist  wait  till  them  Yanks  shakes  therselves  and  gits 
ready  to   rain;    drat   my  skin  ef  you  don't  think  the  Arctic 
Oshun's  bruck  loose  an'  peltin'  on  ye  with  icebero-s  '  " 
"Oh!" 

"Jist  look  out  fo'  tall  scratchin',  that's  all." 
The  horse    race  was    abandoned.     To    pump  Crabtree  of 
Charleston  news  was  more  exciting.     At   last  he  had  told  all 
he  knew  and  all  he  surmised.     And  the  crowd   learned,  as  far 


14  BBISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

as  Crabtree   knew  them,  all  the  details  of  the   bombardment 
and  surrender  of  Fort  Sumter. 

The  younger  planters  resolved  on  instant  action  They 
would  raise  companies  and  without  delay.  They  would  haste, 
else  all  the  harvest  of  glory  would  be  reaped.  Time  and 
place  for  future  meeting  were  quickly  arranged.  Bottles 
were  paraded  and  emptied,  many  wild  cheers  for  Mississippi. 
Jeff  Davis  and  the  Confederacy  disturbed  the  sultry  air,  and 
the  enthused  crowd  mounted  their  horses  and  dispersed. 

On  his  way  home  Trenhom  thought  only  of  his  company, 
and  who  would  compose  it. 

Man  after  man  stood  up  before  him. 

"  Yes  !  Yes  !  Jim.  Slocum,  Si  Coe,  Burney,  Joe  Ratley  "— 
the  long  list  paraded  in  his  brain.  Tall  and  short,  fat  and 
lean,  swarthy  and  fever  blanched.  But,  singular  to  say,  with- 
out exception  they  were  all  "  pore  whites."  Not  one  of  them 
a  slave-holder. 

To  these  poor  whites  slavery  was  a  petrifying  curse.  It 
robbed  them  of  manhood;  it  sifted  out  their  vitality;  it 
chained  them  to  ignorance;  it  beat  them  down  in  the  wallow; 
it  housed  them  like  beasts;  it  herded  them  with  dogs;  it  made 
of  them  its  scavengers  and  hounds;  yet  of  these  Walter  Tren- 
hom would  make  his  company. 

Sarcasm  of  the  century. 

When  slavery  needed  an  iron  hand,  it  turned  to  its 
sludge. 

It  would  make  its  buttress  of  its  silt. 

Full  of  ardor,  Trenhom  galloped  homeward.  One  after 
another  of  the  neighboring  planters  dropped  out  on  the  way, 
and  at  last  there  was  no  sound  on  the  road  but  the  swift  beat- 
ing hoofs  that  hurried  him  on. 

He  was  within  the  circle  from  which  he  hoped  to  gather, 
his  recruits. 

The  dream  of  glory  took  possession  of  him. 

He  saw  himself  at  the  head  of  his  company,  garmented  in 
the  bedazzlements  of  war,  drums  bravely  beating,  colors  gaily 
flaunting,  bright  steel  shimmering,  and  wild  huzzas  following. 

He  traced  his  pathway.     Marches  through  cities  carpeted 


THE    IMPRESS    OF    THE    DIE.  15 

with  flowers  and  adulation;  tents  pitched  on  the  fragrant 
bosom  of  clover;  battles  that  were  to  be  routs;  rapid  pro- 
motion; a  return  homeward;  a  crown  of  laurels.  Then  father 
and  grandfather  would  be  repeated;  he,  too,  would  be  en- 
shrined in  aifection  and  honor. 

When  he  had  reached  the  height,  and  stood  on  its  summit 
in  the  broad  sunlight,  crowned  with  victor}',  he  saw  before 
him  a  cabin,  perched  on  the  hill  side,  a  little  way  removed 
from  the  road. 

Between  the  cabin  and  the  road  there  had  long  a_o-o  been 
a  fence;  so  long  ago  that  the  remnant  of  it  was  rotted  and 
lay  sprawling  on  the  ground.  Half  way  up  from  the  road  the 
open  space  was  overgrown  with  v/eeds,  thistles  and  brambles, 
through  which  here  and  there  was  to  be  seen  the  frowsy  head 
of  a  decaying  stump.  Nearer  the  cabin  the  earth  was  naked 
and  parched.  This,  too,  was  dotted  with  stumps,  some  of 
them  caverns  of  rottenness  and  nests  of  vermin,  while  others 
were  begrimed  and  smutted  by  fire.  In  a  wallow  near  one  of 
these,  and  not  more  than  thirty  feet  from  the  door,  a  large, 
razor-backed  sow  lay  grunting,  her  litter  running  over  her 
and  mouthing  her  teats  out  of  the  filth.  The  cabin  was  not 
more  than  twelve  feet  square,  constructed  of  small,  unbarked 
pine  logs,  notched  at  the  ends,  to  hold  them  in  their  place 
and  bring  them  nearer  together.  The  roof  was  made  of  rived 
clapboards  held  in  position  by  pine  poles  laid  transverse  and 
bound  with  withes  to  the  logs  below.  At  one  end  of  this 
building  was  a  chimney,  broad  at  the  base,  tapering,  and  also 
constructed  of  logs.  This  had  been  daubed  inside  and  outside 
with  mud,  and  the  chinks  between  the  logs  of  the  cabin  had 
been  filled  in  the  same  way,  with  moistened  clay.  Logs  split, 
smoothed  with  an  ax  and  jointed  at  the  sides,  formed  the  floor 
within.  Of  ceiling  there  was  none,  the  broad  spaces  between 
the  rafters  and  the  clapboard  roof  was  surrendered  to  dust, 
cobwebs  and  bugs.  To  this  pen  there  was  one  rude  door  with 
leather  hinges,  and  a  glassless  window  opening,  shuttered  like 
the  doorway. 

The  cabin  was  a  blot  on  the  landscape.    It  was  an  uncouth 
and  startling  exclamation  of  mendicancy  made   by  the  slave 


16  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

system.  And  yet,  cramped,  pinched  and  forbidding  as  it  was, 
it  was  a  home.  It  gave  shelter  to  a  man  and  his  wife  and 
family.  Here  lived  Joe  Ratley,  "Red  Joe."  Seeing  the 
cabin  and  "  Red  Joe  "  perched  on  a  log  in  front  of  it,  Tren- 
hom  drew  reins  and  turned  his  horse  into  the  beaten  path 
throusfh  the  weeds  to  secure  his  first  recruit. 


A    CRACKEK   COURTSHIP.  17 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    CRACKEK    COURTSHIP. 

In  the  year  1855,  a  duplicate  of  the  Ratley  hovel  stood 
near  Pceky  Run,  two  miles  north  of  Ratley's  as  the  crow  flies. 
The  cabin  was  a  little  removed  from  the  run,  looking  down 
on  its  shimmering  surface  as  it  rolled  on,  glittering  like  silver 
dots  through  the  dense  overhanging  foliage.  It  v^^as  the  home 
of  one  Zeek  Buggs  and  his  overflowing  nest  of  little  Buggs. 
It  would  have  been  worse  than  the  Ratley  place,  if  possible. 
But  it  was  not. 

There  is  an  impassible  in  filth,  discomfort  and  degradation. 

In  either  place  the  impassible  was  reached. 

The  pit  of  nastiness  has  a  bottom;  both  hovels  stood 
upon  it. 

The  road  to  Slimpton,  in  front  of  the  cabin,  follows 
Peeky  Run,  and  a  few  hundred  yards  eastward  bends  to  the 
south  around  the  base  of  an  oak-clad  hill  and  is  lost  to  view. 

On  an  early  May  morning  of  that  year,  a  boy  of  twenty 
summers  approached  the  curve  from  the  south  and  paused  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  as  his  eyes  lit  on  the  cabin.  He  stood 
a  few  moments,  nervously  moving  his  left  shoulder  up  and 
down,  his  eyes  following  the  movement  of  his  bare  toes, 
stroking  the  pliant  clay  dust  beneath  him.  After  a  few 
moments  he  moved  on  twenty  or  thirty  yards  in  the  direction 
of  the  cabin,  and  halted  again.  Several  times  this  movement 
was  repeated;  at  last  he  reached  the  point  where  the  road 
approached  nearest  the  cabin.  There  he  stuck  fast:  then 
drew  himself  back  among  the  glabrous,  shining  leaves  of  the 
holly  bushes,  and  the  white  flowers  that  made  a  frame-work 
about  his  long,  flaming  red  hair.  In  this  setting  its  bright 
color  was  intensified.  He  was  a  boy  with  a  purpose,  half  in- 
clined to  draw  back.     His  resolution   was   heroic  up  to  the 


18  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

bend  of  tlie  road.  On  '  half  fled  when  the  test  was  in  view; 
the  other  half  nearij^  i-an  him  through  the  holly  bushes  and 
across  the  run  when  he  stood  fronting  the  door  of  the 
cabin. 

Weak  minds  are  inconstant,  blossoming  with  resolves, 
barren  of  execution. 

They  stride  out  without  estimating. 

Approaching  the  end,  they  overweigh  difficulties  and  turn. 

Ignorant  of  their  capacities  arid  blind  to  obstacles,  they 
rush  to  the  performance  of  a  purpose;  then  they  shuffle  and 
hesitate  before  shadows  or  build  insurmountable  barriers 
where  none  exist,  and  fly  from  the  chevaux  de  frise  their 
terrors  have  created. 

Such  was  the  boy  down  before  the  Buggs  cabin. 

He  was  a  beast  overburdened.  He  had  drawn  steadily  on 
the  level. 

At  the  turn  of  the  road  the  hill  began. 

From  there  on  was  heavy  dragging,  with  many  pauses  for 
wind. 

The  front  of  the  cabin  was  a  chuck  hole. 

There  the  overladen  beast  stuck  fast. 

Havins:  drawn  back,  half  concealed  bv  the  bushes,  he 
stood. 

For  a  time  he  was  motionless.  A  bright  yellow-plumed 
Mississippi  warbler  lit  on  a  low  hanging  bough  over  his  head, 
shook  his  wood-brown  tail,  ruffled  the  olive  tints  of  his  back, 
and  burst  into  full-throated  song. 

An  olive-crowned  thrush  hoppod  from  branch  to  branch  of 
an  adjoining  holly  bush,  turning  its  wliite  neck  first  one  side 
then  the  other,  crying  "peche!  peche!  peche!"  with  shrill, 
energetic  twitter. 

The  cry  of  the  bird  aroused  the  boy. 

He  plucked  a  white  holly  flower,  the  startled  thrush 
spread  its  wings,  and  the  boy  listlessly  pulled  and  tore  the 
white  leaves,  while  the  toes  of  his  right  foot  toyed  with  the 
rank  grass  that  clung  about  his  ankles. 

At  last  n  voice  reached  him. 

"Ho,  Joel" 


A    CRACKER   COURTSHIP.  19 

How  long  he  would  have  stayed,  whether  he  would  have 
advanced  or  retreated  it  is  impossible  to  say. 

If  the  boy's  mind  was  filled  with  a  riddle,  or  if  he  was  try- 
ing to  solve  it,  the  voice  dispersed  the  effort. 

It  is  possible  the  boy  was  not  thinking. 

He  had  reached  a  certain  point  in  his  purpose;  it  deserted 
him,  and  he  sank  into  lethargy. 

The  voice  pricked  and  roused  him.  He  answered  back 
"Hi!"  and  at  once  advanced  towards  the  Buggs  cabin. 

It  was  Zeek  Buggs  who  probed  him  into  activity. 

Zeek  was  seated  on  the  ground  facing  his  cabin,  his  back 
resting  against  a  stump,  his  knees  drawn  up  to  his  chin,  in- 
dulging in  "  bacca  fro'  a  cawn  cob."  He  had  not  observed 
Joe  advancing  and  halting.  But  his  daughter  "  Lissy"  was 
not  so  blind.  She  saw  Joe  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  and 
through  a  broad  chink  in  the  cabin  had  noted  his  every 
wavering  movement  until  he  shrank  into  the  holly-bushes. 
Seeing  that  Joe  halted,  she  called  out  through  the  chink, 
"Dad,  ther's  Joe!"  Dad  looked,  saw  Joe,  and  hailed.  When 
Joe  approached  the  stump  the  younger  members  of  the  family 
gathered  in  and  about  the  door.  Three  little  ones  outside, 
without  even  the  covering  of  a  fig-leaf,  were  tumbling  with  a 
litter  of  dogs.  "  Lissy,"  "  Lindy  Yan  "  and  "  Nervey  "  were 
half  concealed  behind  the  door,  "peeking  out."  A  girl  of 
five  or  six,  perfectly  nude,  stood  full  in  the  doorway,  and 
behind  her  the  prolific  mother  of  the  flock,  with  a  snuff  dip  in 
her  mouth,  looking  over  the  child's  head.  Joe  grew  embar- 
rassed under  the  battery  of  eyes,  and  resorted  to  a  child's 
panacea:  he  pushed  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  into  his 
mouth  as  he  paused,  voiceless,  by  the  stump  that  sustained 
Zeek  Buggs'  lazy  back.  The  boy  was  attired  in  his  Sunday 
best,  and  on  a  mission. 

He  was  shoeless,  his  brown  jeans  pantaloons,  which  halted 
half-way  between  his  knees  and  his  heels,  were  laced  over  his 
shoulders  by  two  blue  cotton  suspenders,  but  his  clothes  were 
clean  and  evidently  fresh  from  the  wash  run;  his  white  cotton 
shirt  opened  in  front,  and,  fastened  by  one  button  at  the 
throat,  exposed  his  sun-browned  breast,  and  its  broad,  un- 


20  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

starched  and  uiiironed  collar  reached  well  down  to  the  points 
of  his  anovular  shoulders. 

Of  coat  and  vest  he  was  as  innocent  as  he  was  of  foot- 
covering. 

The  boy  was  Joe  Ratley. 

As  Joe  stood  by  the  stump,  Buggs,  without  removing  his 
pipe,  spoke:  "How'dJoe." 

Joe  mumbled  "  How'd,"  and  stood  silent. 

Buggs  looked  up,  "  What  be,  Joe?" 

An  idiotic  grin  spread  over  Joe's  freckled  and  sallow  face. 

"Want  suthin?"  continued  Buggs. 

"  Maum  done  sent  I." 

"Maum  did?" 

"  Yaas." 

"  Maum  got  ager?" 

"No!  He!  He!" 

"Got  'nother  brat?" 

"No!  He!  He!" 

"Don't  you  see  hini's  fixt?"  interposed  shrewd  Mrs. 
Buggs.  Buggs  removed  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  looked 
Joe  over,  from  his  brown  felt  hat  to  his  bare  toes. 

"  Yaas,  him  be!" 

Then  a  nude  child  and  a  pup  rolled  over  against  Buggs' 
long  legs. 

"Drat  yerl"  snorted  Buggs,  as  he  kicked  them  away. 
The  child  limped  round  the  corner  of  the  cabin  howling,  the 
pup  biting  at  its  heels. 

"  Cavortin'  arter  gals,  bein't  yu,  Joe?"  It  was  wise  Mrs. 
Buggs  who  asked  it. 

"  Reckon?"  said  Buggs. 

"Shoa!"  replied  the  Bugg  in  calico. 

"  Manm  done  tolt  I,"  whined  Joe. 

"  Ding  my  buttons!"  ejaculated  Buggs. 

"Maum  done  tolt  I,"  sniveled  Joe  again. 

"That's  hit,  be  it?"  asked  Buggs,  looking  up  at  Joe. 

"  Maum  done  tolt  I." 

"To  com  fo'  one  o'  ther  gals?" 

"  Yaas,  maum  done  tolt  I." 


A    CRACKER    COURTSHIP.  21 

"Which  pup  yer  want?" 
"Hech?" 

"  Which  gal  yer  want?" 

"He!  He  !  "  Joe  giggled.     His  idiocy  was  deepening. 

"  They's  a  bilin'  o'  them,"  continued  Buggs. 

"Yaas!" 

The  maternal  Buggs  again  removed  from  her  mouth  the 
frayed  end  of  the  stick  with  which  she  was  snuflf  saturating 
her  gums,  and  spoke: 

"  Reckon  hit  be  Lissy !  " 

*' You  shet!  "  snorted  Bu2:scs.  "Dad  fetched  ef  he's  fool 
nuff  ter  want  that  brick-top." 

"Reckon  it  be,"  replied  the  undaunted  mother  Buggs. 

"  Shet  yer  gabblement,  yo'  heah!"  Then  Buggs  burst 
into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  "Dad  ratted!  They 
all  two  red  heads  'u'd  set  yan  neck  o'  woods  afiah! " 

Joe's  finger  plunged  farther  into  his  wide  mouth.  Melissa's 
red  head  disappeared  behind  the  door  and  the  snuff  dip  re- 
turned to  "Maum  "  Buggs'  gums. 

"  Be  hit  bricktop?"  queried  Buggs. 

"  Don't  keer.  Maum  done  tolt  I,"  replied  Joe,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  sun-baked  earth. 

"There's  Lindy  Yan!  " 

"Yaas!" 

"Lindy!  "  shouted  Buggs:  "  yere!  " 

No  answer. 

"Drat  yer  shackelty  hide!     Yer  heah?" 

At  that  moment  the  vigorous  hand  of  "  Lissy"  was  applied 
to  the  rear  of  "  Melinda  Ann"  and  she  pitched  out  of  the 
doorway  snapping  "  Ye-u!  " 

As  she  turned  to  go  back  to  the  door  Buggs  paternal 
called  her. 

"Yeu  gal!" 

Melinda  paused  and  faced  about. 

"Joe's  artah  yer!" 

Mfelinda  imitated  Joe. 

Her  finger  ran  to  her  mouth.  Her  face  and  his  were  two 
caverns,  at  which  a  finger,  half  concealed,  stood  sentinel. 


22  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Motionless  she  confronted  Joe  with  her  body,  her  head 
bowed.     If  she  saw  anytliing  of  liirn  it  was  only  his  toes. 

This  was  Melinda,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  tall  and  straight  as  an 
arrow,  nut  brown,  unkempt  hair,  flowing  in  tangled  waves 
over  her  back,  shoulders  and  face,  pale  blue  eyes,  and  a  face 
which  but  for  dirt  and  ague  blanch  would  have  been  pretty; 
hands  small  and  sun-browned,  long  finger-nails  black  with 
filth,  well-shaped  bare  feet,  dirtier  than  either  her  hands  or 
face.  Her  one  visible  garment  was  a  faded  and  soiled  calico 
gown,  which  fell  far  short  of  her  ankles,  exposing  the  lower 
half  of  her  beautifully  rounded  legs.  That  she  wore  no  under 
garments  was  made  evident  by  the  exhibition  of  her  body  and 
limbs  through  the  many  rents  in  her  dress.  Covering  it  was 
not. 

It  filled  no  requirements  of  decency. 

Seen  through  all  the  gaps,  the  exhibition  was  shameful. 

It  was  a  barbarous  want  of  attire.  And  yet  she  was 
shameless. 

She  had  no  better;  she  never  had  better;  she  knew  no  bet- 
ter. With  no  experience  beyond  filthy  poverty;  chained  all 
her  days  to  foulest  ignorance;  breathed  upon  only  by  bestial 
instincts;  nurtured  in  a  hot-bed  of  groveling  desires;  she  was 
degraded  without  knowing  it;  indecent,  and  blind  to  it. 

She  was  the  inscription  of  her  life-long  surroundings. 

A  result  of  the  slave  system. 

Scoria  of  the  slave  furnace. 

At  once  an  exfoliation,  and  a  tattered  protest  against 
slavery. 

Receiving  no  reply  from  his  daughter,  Buggs  spoke  again. 

"Git  wi'  um — there's  more  pups  heiar  nor  there's  bones." 

"Maum  done  tolt  I  she'd  give  we 'uns  a  skillet,"  added 
Joe,  in  his  most  persuasive  tones. 

"  Yaas,  reckon  sh'll  go." 

"  An'  a  quilt  kiver,"  added  Joe. 

"  Yaas." 

"An'  a  bushel  o' grits,"  continued  Joe,  enthusiastically 
parading  his  riches. 

"  Wher  yer  gwine,  Joe?"  asked  Buggs  paternal. 


A    CRACKER    COURTSHIP.  23 

'*  Ter  Scroon's  clearin'." 
"  Wher's  Scroon?" 
"  Done  gone  ter  Arkasavv." 
"When'd  he  git?" 
"Dun'o.     He's  lit  fo'  sho'." 
"  T'ain't  no  loss  !  " 

"  He's  alius  a  low  down,  triflin'  cuss  !  " 

"  Yaas  !  " 

"A  poa  shackelty  coot." 

"  Yaas  !  " 

"  The  ignorantest  crittah  !  " 

"  Yaas  !  " 

"  Turn  up  him  ^nout  at  cawn  juice." 

'♦  Yaas  !  "  ^ 

"  Nevah  drink'd  a  drap  in  him  bawn  days." 

"  No  ! " 

"  Scraped  cotton  ovah  yan  like  a  niggah." 

"  Yaas  !  " 

"  No  scratch  of  a  gent'aman  on  him." 

"  No  !  "  ■ 

"  Poa,  shacklin  cuss  !  " 

"  Yaas  !  " 

"An'  him  streak't?" 

"  Yaas,  done  gitted." 

"  Drat  ef  I  ain't  glad." 

"Yaas." 

"  An'  yer  gwine  theer?  " 

"  Yaas,  maum  done  tolt  I." 

"  All  right,  Joe,  take  the  gal." 

"Hech  !" 

"'Lindy's  gwine." 

Joe  pushed  the  finger  back  in  his  mouth,  giggled  idiotic- 
ally, "He!  he!  he!"  looked  down  on  the  ground,  then  turned 
one  vacant  eye  on  Melinda,  and  Melinda  neither  blushed  nor 
paled  nor  simpered;  she  simply  stood  with  her  finger  between 
her  teeth  looking  at  Joe. 

At  this  juncture  the  mother  and  sister  joined  the  group 


24  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

about  the  stump,  and  seeing  that  neither  Joe  nor  Melinda 
were  likely  voluntarily  to  lessen  the  distance  between  them, 
Mrs.  Bucrgs  gave  Melinda  a  violent  push  between  the  shoulders 
that  fairly  threw  her  into  Joe's  arms. 

Joe  continued  his  imbecile  "He-he-he!"  and  threw  his 
arms  about  Melinda,  who  seemed  no  way  averse  to  his  rugged 
embracing. 

"  Yero,  Manzy,  git  a  broom,  an'  they  two  uns  '11  jump 
over  liit." 

This  was  the  suggestion  of  prudent  papa. 

"  Ther  hain't  nairy  broom,"  replied  mamma  Manzy. 

"Git  down  theer  an'  cut  a  holly  stick  an'  let  'em  uns  jump 
thet." 

The  stick  was  brought. 

Joe  and  Melinda,  hand  in  hand,  jumped  over  it,  and  — 
they  were  married. 

Melinda  entered  the  cabin,  and  in  a  few  moments  appeared 
with  a  piece  of  discolored  calico  formed  in  the  shape  of  a  sun- 
bonnet,  and  rejoined  Joe. 

The  bonnet  and  dress  were  her  entire  wardrobe. 

As  soon  as  Melinda  came  to  his  side,  Joe  turned  and  walked 
down  the  path,  Melinda  following  a  few  feet  behind  him. 

Without  a  kiss,  without  a  tear,  without  a  prayer,  without  a 
farewell,  withoilt  a  "  God  bless  you,"  uttered  or  thought,  this 
girl,  unregretted  and  unregretting,  walked  away  after  Joe — 
walked  away  in  rags  and  filth — down  through  the  path,  out 
into  the  dusty  road,  and  passed  out  of  sight  around  the  bend 
without  once  turning  her  head,  away  from  the  only  home  she 
had  ever  known  —  forever. 


THE   TWO   TOADS.  25 


CHAPTER   ITI. 


THE    TWO    TOADS. 


A  mile  away  from  Buggs'  cabin  Joe  turned  into  a  foot- 
path leading  over  the  hills,  and  steadily  marched  on  until  he 
reached  Scroon's  abandoned  clearing,  passed  through  it  and 
stood  before  the  open  door  of  the  cabin.  There  he  paused, 
looked  in  and  turned.  Then  for  the  first  time  he  seemed  to 
be  aware  that  Melinda  stood  behind  him. 

All  along  the  clay  road  and  the  tortuous  path  over  tlie 
hills  they  had  been  dumb. 

Not  one  word  passed  between  them. 

She  kept  pace  with  him,  lagged  when  he  loitered  and 
increased  her  speed  when  he  hurried. 

She  was  his;  a  dog  with  a  new  master. 

And  like  a  pliant  dog  she  nosed  his  heels  and  conformed 
her  pace  to  the  speed  or  drivel  of  his  legs. 

When  Joe's  eyes  fell  on  Melinda,  an  idiotic  leer  spread 
over  his  face. 

Then  he  laughed,  "He!  he!  he!" 

Melinda  stood  looking  vacantly  on  the  few  feet  of  bare 
earth  intervening  between  her  and  her  new-found  hus- 
band. 

"Pooty,  hain't  ye?" 

Melinda  was  dumb. 

"  Drat  ef  ye  hain't  pooty;  hain't  ye?" 

Melinda  nervously  wound  one  of  the  strings  of  her  calico 
head  covering  about  her  fingers,  then  swung  the  bonnet  to 
and  fro,  with  the  swaying  motion  of  her  body. 

"  Come  yeer." 

Melinda  advanced. 

"  Set." 

Melinda  silently  looked  to  know  where. 


26  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Joe  was  seated  on  a  squared  log  tliat  served  for  a  door- 
step. He  pointed  to  a  place  beside  him  —  "  Yeer."  Melinda 
sat  down. 

Joe's  milky  eyes  were  close  to  iier  face. 

He  raised  his  right  hand  quickly  and  chucked  her  under 
the  chin. 

"He!    he!  lie!" 

"He!  he!  he!"  chorused  Mclinda. 

"  Drat  ef  ye  hain't  pooty." 

"He!  he!  "  simpered  Melinda. 

"Pooty!" 

"He!  he!" 

"  Maum  don't  tolt  I." 

"He!  he!" 

"  Maum  'lowed  you's  a  peert  heifer." 

"Yees." 

"An'  dinged  pooty." 

"He!  he!" 

Then  they  sat  in  silence. 

Two  great  toads.     They  had  croaked,  now  they  gaped. 

A  quarter,  a  half  hour  sped  away,  then  Joe  stood  up  and 
walked  into  the  cabin. 

A  cotton  bed  tick  filled  with  straw,  as  it  had  been  aban- 
doned by  the  former  occupant  of  the  place,  lay  on  a  rude  bed- 
stead of  pine  poles  in  one  corner  of  the  cabin;  a  birch  broom 
leaned  against  the  wall  in  another  corner;  a  few  broken  dishes 
lay  scattered  on  the  floor.  This  was  the  cabin  and  its  furnish- 
ing. After  Melinda  had  felt  the  bed,  looked  into  the  broad, 
open  fireplace  and  up  the  chimney,  Joe  spoke  again. 

"'Lindy!" 

"Eh?" 

"Gwan  ovah  to  maum's  an'  git  the  skillet  an'  grits." 

"An'  the  kiver?" 

"  Yaas,  maum  done  tolt  I  we  uns  mout  hev  'em." 

Melinda  turned  to  go. 

Joe  called  again. 

"'Lindy!"  ' 

"Eh?" 


THE    TWO    TOADS.  27 

"  Dad  fetched  if  yer  ain't  pooty." 

"He!  he!" 

And  Melinda  trudged  away  under  the  burning  sun  with 
this  little  joy  trickling  in  her  heart.  Some  one  had  told  her 
she  was  pretty.  She  had  heard  it  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 
As  she  crossed  Peeky  Run  on  her  way  to  "  Maum  "  Ratley's 
cabin,  seeing  the  reflection  of  herself  on  its  glossy  surface, 
she  paused  and  looked.  She  sat  down  by  the  stream  and 
looked  again.  Her  little  feet  dropped  into  the  current.  She 
leaned  forward,  her  fingers  dallying  with  her  glowing  limbs 
where  the  rippling  waters  rolled  about  them.  Unconsciously 
she  passed  her  hands  upward,  down^vard,  and  the  loosened 
dirt  and  dust  flowed  away  in  the  branch.  She  saw  how  her 
limbs  glistened  fresh  from  the  lavatory.  Perhaps  she  noticed 
how  much  prettier  they  looked.  She  made  a  cup  of  her  hands 
and  washed  her  face  and  her  neck.  She  moistened  her  tan,- 
gled  mass  of  hair  and  pushed  it  back  from  her  brow  and  face. 
Then  she  looked  again  in  the  stream.  A  contented  smile  stole 
into  her  young  face,  and  she  trudged  on.  In  front  of  the 
Ratley  cabin  she  paused,  and  found  relief  from  embarrass- 
ment by  introducing  her  forefinger  between  her  rosy  lips. 
Maum  Ratley  saw  her  and  spoke  : 

»  How  de"?  " 

Melinda  devoured  the  earth  with  her  eyes. 

"Seen  Joe?" 

"  He  !  he  !  " 

"Marrit  ter  Joe?" 

"  He  !  he  !  " 

"Wher's  Joe?" 

"  Yan!  "  whispered  Melinda,  pointing  over  her  shoulder  in 
the  direction  she  came. 

"  Joe  told  yer  to  ter  come?  " 

"Yees,  told  I  ter  come." 

"  Marrit." 

"  He  !  he  !  " 

"  Marrit  be  yer?  " 

"Yees!  he!  he!"  murmured  'Lindy,  still  (iovQuring  tbe 
earth  with  her  eyes. 


28  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS 

The  mother-in-law  pointed  to  the  decayed  door  sill  and 
uttered  one  word,  "  Set." 

Melinda  sat  down,  twining  the  bonnet  strings  nervously 
about  her  fingers.  Mrs.  Ratley  entered  the  cabin  and  brought 
out  an  iron  skillet,  a  tin  pan,  a  gourd,  two  battered  knives, 
and  a  sack  containing  about  a  half  bushel  of  grits,  and  laid 
them  down  at  the  girl's  feet. 

Melinda  looked  at  them,  inventoried  them  in  her  mind,  ran 
them  over  again  and  again.  There  seemed  to  be  something 
missing.     At  last  her  wandering  thoughts  grasped  it. 

"  Kiver,"  she  whispered,  without  looking  up. 

"Eh?" 

"  Kiver  !  "     A  little  louder. 

Mrs.  Ratley  removed  the  corn-cob  pipe  long  enough  to 
say,  "Quilt  kiver?" 

"  Yees  ! '' 

"  I  done  tolt  Joe  tu  git  yer  !  " 

"  Ther  kiver  "  murmured  Melinda. 

"Eh?" 

"  Joe  done  tolt  I." 

"Him  did?" 

"  En  he  done  tolt  dad." 

"Him  did?" 
•  "  Yees  !  " 

"  Him  hain't  no  bug  eatah,  ain't  Joe." 

"  He  !  he  !  " 

"  He-um  a  peart  un,  him  be!"  snorted  the  exultant 
mother. 

"  He  !  he  !  " 

"An'  him  tolt  Zeek?" 

"  Yees,  he-um  tolt  dad." 

Mrs.  Ratley  ran  her  fingers  into  her  frowsy  hair,  rubbed  a 
few  minutes  vigorously.  Tlie  sought  idea  touched  her  dirty 
finger  tips,  she  strode  past  Melinda  into  the  cabin,  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments  with  a  faded,  tattered  and  filthy 
bed  cover,  which  she  added  to  Melinda's  store  of  riches.  As 
soon  as  the  cover  was  laid  down  the  girl  stood  up,  threw  the 
quilt  over   her   shoulder,  opened   the  sack,  thrust  the  tin  pan, 


THE    TWO    TOADS.  29 

gourd  and  knives  into  the  grits,  gave  the  neck  of  the  sack  a 
twist,  landed  it'  on  her  shoulder  on  top  of  the  quilt,  seized  the 
skillet  in  the  vacant  hand,  and  without  a  word  walked  away. 

When  Melinda  returned  to  her  new  home,  thereafter  to  be 
known  as  the  Ratley  cabin,  Joe  was  seated  on  the  door  log, 
his  clasped  hands  holding  his  long  legs  up  to  his  chin.  A 
vacant  grin  illuminated  his  face  as  Melinda  trudged  past 
through  the  cabin  door  and  laid  her  burden  in  the  center  of 
the  floor. 

"  Git  'em." 

"  Ther  be." 

"  Seen  maum?  " 

"  Yees." 

"  Powful  good." 

«  Yees." 

"  She-um  tolt  I  ter  git  yer." ' 

"  Yees." 

"Gitkiver?" 

"  Ther  be." 

"  Maum  yowl." 

"  No!  " 

"  Powful  good  maum." 

Having  reached  this  point  Joe  noticed  Melinda.  With  his 
left  hand  against  the  side  of  his  head,  the  ends  of  his  fingers 
began  a  violent  rooting  for  a  thought.  Slowly  it  came  to  him. 
Melinda  was  washed.  Flushed  with  the  walk  and  the  load, 
her  purified  skin  looked  beautiful.     It  dawned  on  Jxte. 

"  Lindy!   dad  fetched  you's  pooty." 

"He!  he!" 

"  Pooty  ez  a  spotted  hoss,  yo'  be." 

"He!  he!" 

"  Ther's  the  ax." 

Melinda  looked,  saw  the  ax,  took  it  in  her  hand,  went 
out,  chopped  an  armful  of  wood,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the  flint 
which  Joe  carried,  a  glowing  fire  was  soon  streaming  up  the 
soot-coated  chimney. 

While  Melinda  was  building  the  fire  Joe  cleaned  two 
squirrels.     These  he   had  shot  while  Melinda   procured  their 


39  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

household  treasures  of  his  mother.  The  ax  he  had  fished 
out  of  a  hollow  tree,  where  he  had  hidden  it  long  ago.  He 
found  it  in  the  road,  where  it  had  probably  been  dropped 
from  a  passing  wagon,  and  concealed  it  for  use  when  he 
migiit  need  it.  That  and  a  gun,  with  which  Joe  was  an  ex- 
pert, were  his  only  treasures.  The  gun  was  drawn  from  the 
loft  of  the  cabin,  where  he  hid  it  when  on  his  hunt  for  a  wife. 
The  tree  was  disemboweled  of  tlie  ax,  and  Joe,  with  his  gun 
and  ax,  with  tlie  stores  from  "  Maum  "  Ratley,  and  a  wife, 
was  rich. 

Thus  they  began  life. 

Deer,  bears  and  squirrels  were  numerous  in  the  surround- 
ing forests,  and  tiie  occasions  were  rare  when  there  was  any 
lack  of  an  abundant  supply  of  meat  in  the  cabin. 

The  peltries  of  deer,  wolves,  cougar  and  wild  cats  which 
frequently  fell  victims  of  Joe's  unerring  aim,  supplied  him 
with  powder,  whisky,  which  he  called  "cawn  juice,"  the  scant 
clothing  they  both  used,  and  the  scantier  store  goods  which 
at  rare  intervals  entered  their  hovel. 

As  they  began  they  continued. 

Such  manual  labor  as  was  performed  Melinda  did. 

She  planted  sweet  potatoes,  corn  and  tobacco,  and  tended 
them. 

Wood-chopping,  digging,  planting  and  hoeing  was  her 
work. 

The  women  did  that  work  at  the  home  of  her  childhood. 

Melinda  came  to  her  new  home  with  this  training  strong 
upon  her. 

It  was  the  only  life  she  knew. 

It  was  ingrained  by  years,  by  practice,  by  observation. 

She  was  penetrated  by  no  thoughts  of  hardship. 

Resistance  never  occurred  in  her. 

"  Women  folks  is  made  to  hev  chillun,  tote  wood  and 
scratch  taters." 

That  she  had  heard  and  remembered,  and  in  her  new 
home  she  practiced. 

She  carried  wood  from  the  beginning;  hgeing  potatoes 
and  mothering  children  came  after. 


THE    TWO    TOADS.  31 

Of  love  there  were  no  words  or  thoughts. 

Meliiida  knew  hunger  and  cold,  and  pain,  and  squalor,  and 
filth. 

Her  life  had  been  a  prolonged  submission  to  them  all. 

She  was  in  their  grip.     She  was  riveted  to  the  inexorable. 

Their  severe  pressure  was  on  her. 

She  suffered;  she  knew  that;  but  she  never  thought  of 
escape.  There  was  no  hope  of  better  to  urge  her  to  writhe, 
or  struggle,  or  protest. 

With  her  mouth  in  the  dust  she  crawled. 

There  was  no  room  for  love  in  her  groveling  surround- 
ings. 

Animalism  there  was. 

Love  there  was  not. 

Love  is  a  product  of  mind. 

Nature  does  not  plant  it. 

To  love  there  must  be  thought  and  tenderness,  and  ca- 
pacity to  feel.     Melinda  had  neither. 

She  was  a  human  toad. 

Joe  was  another. 

Joe  was  one  too  many  in  an  over-crowded  nest,  and  was 
pushed  out  to  make  a  nest  of  his  own. 

Melinda  was  pushed  out  after  him. 

There  was  no  feeling  in  the  matter. 

The  boy  needed  some  one  to  make  fires,  bake  corn  pone, 
fry  squirrel,  and  be  a  mother  to  his  children,  and  the  girl  was 
pushed  away  from  a  table  where  there  were  too  many  mouths 
for  the  "taters,"  upon  the  first  person  who  was  willing  to 
take  her. 

That  Melinda  mis^ht  have  o-rown  to  love  a  better  man  is 
possible. 

That  she  did  not  then  or  ever  afterward  love  Joe  is  cer- 
tain. 

He  gave  her  little  opportunity. 

Married,  the  owner  of  a  woman,  he  felt  himself  to  be  a 
man. 

He  had  been  the  companion  of  boys. 

He  turned  at  once  from  the  beardless  to  the  bearded,  and 


32  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

to  their  ways,  and,  the  second  night  after  his  wooing,  came 
home — drunk. 

Was  Melinda  shocked? 

Not  at  all. 

She  had  seen  it  too  frequently. 

Slie  had  shivered  too  many  nights,  perfectly  nude,  in  the 
open  fields,  concealed  from  the  fury  and  heavy  hand  of  a 
drunken  father,  to  be  shocked  by  a  drunken  husband. 

As  Joe  staggered  through  the  door,  loading  the  still,  dark 
air  with  obscene  oaths,  but  one  thought  entered  her  mind, 
"Will  him  wallop?"  and  when  in  drunken  stupor  he  fell 
prone  and  helpless  uj3on  the  floor,  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  and  went  calmly  to  sleep. 

Before  the  first  infant  came,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  these 
scenes  had  been  repeated  many  times. 

She  made  no  protest. 

It  was  possibly  useless. 

She  had  never  heard  of  a  woman  protesting. 

It  never  penetrated  her  mind  that  she  had  a  duty  in  that 
direction. 

Even  if  it  had,  she  knew  no  words  in  which  to  protest. 

She  lived  on  in  passive  subjection,  in  hushed  endurance, 
thankful  that  she  escaped  the  heavy  hand,  and  wondering 
how  soon  it  would  come. 

The  first  child  came. 

Maternity  is  a  double  birth — a  creation  and  a  re-creation. 

A  child  born  into  the  world;  a  woman  born  into  knowl- 
edge. 

It  is  an  upheaval. 

Then  if  there  is  any  good  in  the  depths  of  a  woman's 
nature  it  is  thrown  to  the  surface  and  fused  in  the  thought  of 
motherhood. 

Melinda  drew  her  babe  to  her  breast — that  was  the  mother 
instinct. 

She  looked  about  the  desolate  ca])in  and  pressed  the  child 
tighter  to  her  bosom,  and  said,  "  Poor  chile!  " 

For  the  first  time  she  saw  her  inikodness. 

Her  vacant  mind  was  filling;  dispersion  vanished. 


THE    TWO    TOADS.  33 

She  began  to  think  of  the  child,  the  misery  before  it,  then, 
what  would  she  do  to  remedy  it  —  for  the  child. 

She  was  groping  in  a  rayless  abyss. 

With  help  she  might  have  reached  the  light 

When  the  child  was  born,  Joe  was  absent. 

The  night  following  and  the  next  day  Joe  was  gone. 

The  second  night  he  came  to  the  door,  stumbled  in  and 
lay  on  the  floor  in  a  drunken  stupor  until  late  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

When  he  awoke  he  saw  there  was  no  fire,  nothing  to  eat, 
and  Melinda  was  in  bed. 

He  raised  up,  walked  over  to  the  bed,  and  with  an  oath 
struck  her  full  in  the  face. 

The  child  mother  saw  the  hand  descending,  saw  it  raise 
and  fall  the  second  time. 

She  set  her  white  teeth  together,  but  she  neither  spoke 
nor  flinched  from  the  blows. 

Then  she  staggered,  painfully,  uncomplainingly,  to  the 
floor,  lighted  a  fire  and  cooked  breakfast  for  the  beast. 

The  babe  lay  wailing  in  the  bed. 

The  brute  looked  wonderingly  at  it  until  his  corn  bread 
and  venison  were  cooked. 

Then  he  went  out  and  Melinda  went  back  to  bed. 

The  upheaval  was  useless. 

The  groping  was  abandoned. 

The  vacant  mind  was  filling  with  something  else. 

It  took  form. 

Two  weeks  after,  when  Melinda  was  entirely  recovered,  it 
bore  fruits. 

Joe.  came  home  in  the  night  intoxicated.  When  he  awoke 
in  the  morning  he  filled  the  room  with  profanity. 

He  was  bound  hand  and  foot  with  thongs,  and  helpless. 

When  he  stirred,  Melinda  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  at 
him.  Looked  steadily,  calmly,  silently;  then  lay  down  again 
and  nursed  the  child. 

Joe's  threats  were  multiplied;  his  oaths  horrible. 

Melinda  was  silent  and  irresponsive. 

When  the  child  was  nursed,  Melinda  raised  from  the  bed, 


34  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

walked  past  Joe  to  the  fire,  baked  a  corn-cake,  sat  on  the 
hearth  and  ate  it. 

Then  she  stood  up,  walked  to  the  door,  went  out  and 
returned  with  a  heavy  hickory  rod. 

Joe  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

The  oaths  died  away  on  his  lips. 

"  'Lindy,  onlash  me." 

"  Vm  gwine  ter  lick  yer,  Joe." 

"'Lindy?" 

"  Yaas." 

'*  Yer  hain't  gwine  ter." 

"  Yaas,  Joe." 

"  AVhat  fer  yer  gwine  ter  ?  " 

''  Fer  wollopin'  I." 

"  'Lindy  !  " 

"  Yaas,  Joe." 

"  Yo-um  best  git  yer  gone." 

"  I  hearn  yer,  Joe." 

"  Ding  blast  yer  corn-shuckin'  hide  !  " 

"  Yer  kickin'  'fore  yer  spurred,  Joe." 

"  Ef  yer  tech  me,  ding  my  buttons  ef  I  doan  larrup  an 
larrup  yer  !  " 

"  Joe  !  " 

She  sat  down  on  the  floor  facing  him,  not  one  ray  of  emo- 
tion in  her  face. 

"  Jess  shet  yer  gabblement  an'  onlash  these  yere  !  " 

"Joe!" 

"  Shet  an'  onlash  !  " 

"Joe!" 

"  Dog  awn  —  drat  —  " 

"  Ef  yer  teches  me  agin  —  " 

"  Yaas  —  ding  me  —  yer'll  see  !  " 

"  Make  shoa  wuck,  Joe." 

"Eh?" 

"  Make  shoa,  Joe." 

"Eh?" 

"  Shoa !  " 

"For  what,  shoa?" 


rZE  GWIXE    TER  LARRUP  YER." 
35 


THE   TWO    TOADS.  87 

"  Pze  boun'  ter  kill  yer  ef  yer  does."  Her  face  looked 
infantile  when  she  said  it. 

"Eh?" 

"Ef  yer  don't  kill  I  next  wallopin',  Pze  boun'  ter  kill  yer, 
Joe.  Boun'  ter."  Still  the  infantile  look  was  upon  her. 
Then  she  stood  up. 

Joe  looked  on  the  girl  surprised. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  worthless  life  he  was  awed. 

If  Melinda  had  wept  or  blustered.  If  she  had  been  a 
scream  cat,  ruffling  her  back,  Joe  could  have  understood  it. 
But  to  sit  there  beside  him  with  a  heavy  rod  in  her  hand  and 
speak  to  him  so  softly,  without  a  trace  of  passion  or  anger, 
that  was  beyond  his  feeble  comprehension. 

Then  Melinda  spoke  to  him  again. 

He  was  lying  on  the  floor,  face  up. 

"  I'ze  a  gwine  ter  turn  yer." 

"Fer  what?" 

"  I'ze  gwine  ter  larrup  yer." 

Then  she  turned  him  over  and  rained  blows  upon  him  while 
he  whined  like  a  whipped  cur. 

Hearing  the  child  cry,  Melinda  paused  in  her  work,  went 
over  to  the  child,  took  it  in  her  arms,  nuTsed  it,  soothed  it, 
laid  it  down  in  bed,  then  again  raised  the  rod  and  returned  to 
Joe,  who  during  all  the  time  she  was  nursing  had  begged  and 
entreated  to  be  released. 

The  girl  was  deaf. 

She  was  immovable. 

She  was  destiny. 

Again  she  showered  vigorous  blows  upon  the  quivering 
back,  and  hips,  and  limbs,  until  the  oaths  died  away  in  tears 
and  prayers;  until  she  had  given  him  the  full  measure  of  her 
resolve. 

Then  she  turned  away  from  him  to  the  child. 

During  all  the  long  day  Joe  lay  prostrate  on  the  floor  with- 
out either  food  or  drink. 

To  all  his  entreaties  for  release  or  sustenance  Melinda  re- 
turned only  silence. 

Not  one  syllable  passe.d  her  lips.     As  the  sun  was  drop- 


38  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

ping  down  behind  the  trees  in  the  valley  Melinda  stooped  over 
him  and  comnienced  to  undo  the  thongs  that  held  him.  As 
she  did  she  said: 

''Joe,  ef  yer  beats  me,  make  shoa — mind  yer,  make  shoa. " 

She  asked  no  assurances,  made  no  bargains,  but  lapsed  in- 
to silence  and  unbound  the  thongs.  Joe  attempted  to  rise, 
but  his  cramped  limbs  refused  their  office.  He  sat  up,  and 
asked  for  a  drink  of  water;  this  Melinda  brought  him. 

For  an  instant  a  malignant  light  came  into  his  blood-shot, 
milky  eyes,  but  under  the  calm,  unflinching  gaze  of  the  girl 
who  stood  before  him  it  faded,  faded  slowly  away— died  out, 
never  to  return. 

He  was  conquered  and  cowed.  If  the  girl  had  then  known 
her  power — then  known  what  use  to  have  made  of  it,  how  dif- 
ferent it  would  have  been. 

Joe  never  attempted  to  beat  Melinda  after  that. 

Otherwise  there  was  no  change  in  their  lives. 

The  cabin  grew  filthier;  the  clay  chinking  frayed  out 
from  between  the  logs;  the  rain  and  storm  beat  in. 

Melinda  effortless  and  her  children  helpless,  were  in  the 
abyss. 

The  abyss  was  a  cesspool. 

Tt  was  to  the  door  of  this  house  of  misery  that  Walter 
Trenhom  rode  to  secure  a  "Confederate  hero.  " 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  39 


CHAPTER  IV. 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT. 


When  Trenhom'  rode  up  to  the  door  Ratley  was  sitting 
near  it,  on  the  ground,  with  his  back  against  the  logs  of  the 
cabin.  A  drab  slouch  hat  was  pulled  over  his  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun;  his  long  legs,  ending  in  dirty 
bare  feet  were  stretched  at  full  length  upon  the  parched  and 
unswarded  earth.  Hearing  the  horse's  hoof  beat,  he  looked 
up  and  saw  Trenhom.      Then  Trenhom  spoke  : 

"Howd'e,  Joe  ?" 

"  Peert  eend  up." 

"  Beautiful  evening." 

"  Yaas." 

"Pleasant  lately." 

"Yaas,  sence  hit  fair'd  up." 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Waal,  hit's  sorter  'twixt  hay  and  grass." 

"  Game  plenty  ?  " 

"  They's  owdacious  scace." 

"  How's  the  children  ?  " 

"  Scrawny." 

"Sick?" 

"  Dogawned  ef  I  don't  disremembah.  They's  a  powful 
harryment,  chillen  is." 

Hearing  the  voices  outside,  Melinda  stood  in  the  door. 
Trenhom  had  never  seen  her  before.  He  saw  her  now  at  dis- 
advantage. She  wore  but  one  garment,  a  faded  calico  gown, 
longer  than  the  one  in  which  she  was  married,  but  fully  as 
foul  and  tattered.  If  it  had  been  constructed  to  display  her 
supple  form  it  served  the  purpose  admirably.  It  outlined 
every  curve  of  her  body.  Six  years  had  changed  Melmda  but 
little. 


40  BRISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

At  twenty-two  most  of  the  women  of  her  class  were  sallow, 
wrinkled  and  old. 

Snuif  dipping  and  "  cawn  juice  "  grind  quickly. 

In  such  a  mill  youth,  beauty  and  roundness  vanish  rap- 
idly. 

But  Melinda  neither  used  tobacco  nor  whisky.  She  was 
the  one  "  low  down  "  woman  in  that  whole  region  who  did 
not. 

The  rosiness  of  sixteen  was  on  her  cheeks,  the  same  round- 
ness in  her  face,  and  her  wealth  of  tangled  nut  brown  hair  yet 
flowed  over  her  back  and  shoulders. 

A  child  was  nursing  at  her  breasts  when  she  heard  the 
voices.  Laying  it  down,  she  appeared  in  the  doorway  as  the 
child  left  her  when  it  abandoned  its  life-giving  food. 

Trenhom  looked  upon  her  exposed  bosom,  on  her  lithe, 
supple  form,  on  her  rounded  cheeks,  on  her  tangled  web  of 
hair,  and  he  thought,  "  what  a  picture  of  filthy  beauty."  He 
touched  his  hat  and  addressed  her  : 

"  Good  evening." 

"  Even,"  she  responded.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  bod}-  moved. 
She  stood  with  wide  open  eyes.  Her  mouth  was  closed  and 
there  was  an  imperceptible  motion  of  her  lips;  that  was  all. 
And  this  was  the  first  white  gentleman  that  ever  stood  be- 
fore her  cabin  door,  or  ever  addressed  her. 

"Children   well  ?" 

*'  Yees." 

"  Any  ague  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  see  you've  some  corn  in." 

"  Yees." 

"Doing  well?" 

"  No  great  scratches." 

'*  It  looks  well." 

**  Hit's  mighty  nigger'd  out  Ian'." 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  might  make  a  fair  crop." 

*'  Hit  do  once  an'  agin." 

"I  came  to  see  Joe." 

"Yees;  ther  him." 


IN    SEAECH    OF    A   RECRUIT.  41 

"  I  see;  I  want  him  to  join  my  company." 

"Yees." 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  objections." 
"  Eh  ! " 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  care." 
«  No." 

Still  she  stood  motionless. 

Joe  had  risen   to  his  feet  and  stood   leaning  against  the 
cabin. 

"You'll  join,  Joe?" 

"What?" 

"  My  company." 

'*  What  com'ny  ?  " 

"  My  cavalry  company." 

"  Critter  company  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Whatfer?" 

"  The  war." 

"  What  waah  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  heard  ?" 

"Heern?" 

"  Yes." 

"  A  waah  !   Fouten  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Hier  ?  " 

"  No,  not  here;  in  the  Carolinas  and  Virginia." 

'^Whah's'um?" 

''  Way  off  east  and  north." 

'^Fer"?" 

'  Yes,  hundreds  of  miles  away." 

''  Who's  um  wid  ?  " 

"  With  the  abolitionists." 

"  Who's  um  ?  " 

'•'  The  Yankies." 

"  Dad  rat  the  Yanks." 

"  Miserable  abolition  creatures." 

''  Yaas." 

*'  Their  tyranny  has  become  unsupportable." 


42  BRISTLING    AVITH    THORNS. 

"  Eh  !  " 

"  They  are  putting  on  too  many  airs." 

**  Yaas  ;  rot  their  corn  shuckin'  hides." 

"  You  know  they  have  elected  Lincohi  president  ?" 

"  Yaas  !     I  heern  he'um  a  dratted  mulatter.  " 

"  And  they  are  determined  to  abolitionize  the  country  an 
emancipate  our  slaves." 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  to  free  the  niggers." 

"  Make  nifrirah  uns  free  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  No  mastahs  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  No  dawgs  to  houn'  um  ?  " 

"  No." 

*'No.lickin'?" 

'*  No." 

"  Ding  my  buttons,  an'  ther  gwine  ter  do  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  sure." 

"  Great  snakes  an'  gawl  !  Make  'um  triflin'  niffsfah  uns 
free,  an'  no  lickin,  no  mastahs,  an'  no  houn's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  what  they  are  after." 

"  An'  let  niggah  uns  gwan  loose  roun'  ? ' " 

"Yes." 

"  Like  we  uns  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"An'  not  boun'  to  git  outen  er  road  an'  tech  'im  hat  to  we 
all  white  gen'lmen  ?" 

"  Exactly.     That  is  what  they'll  do.'' 

"  Great  snakes  an'  gawl  !  " 

"  You  know  we  have  captured  Sumter  ?" 

"  No-o-o ! " 

"  Yes  we  have  !  " 

"  Shoa  ? " 

"  Yes,  sure." 

"  By  gawl  ! "  Joe  brought  his  broad  red  hand  down  with 
emphasis  on  his  thigh.  "  Yee'd  ort  to  fotch  'um  up  to  Burty's, 
gi'um  a  hundred  on  his  bar  back,  an'  burn  'um  wi'  a  slow  fiah. 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  43 

Dratted  bug  eatin'  coot,  thet  hain*t  none  too  seveigrous  fer 
'um." 

"  And  you'll  join  my  company  ?  "  Trenholm  smiled  and 
replied  interrogatively. 

"For  roun' hier  ?" 

"  No,  for  the  seat  of  war." 

"Offther  in  'Jinny." 

"  Somewhere  there.  The  opinion  is  that  the  real  seat  of 
war  will  be  in  Virginia." 

"  And  there'll  be  rail  fouten  ?  " 

"The  opinion  is  that  Yankees  will  never  dare  face  South- 
ern gentlemen." 

"  Yaas  they  uns  'ull  squall  like  houn's." 

"  Many  of  our  wisest  people  think  that.  But  there  may  be 
fighting." 

"  Down  airnest  rail  fouten  ?" 

"  Yes.  It  may  be  that  the  spirit  of  the  revolution  has  not 
been  devoured  by  their  greed  of  gain  ;  that  it  may  survive  ; 
that  they  may  prove  foemen  worthy  of  our  steel,  of  whom 
we  shall  win  our  laurels  only  by  superlative  heroism.  It  may 
be  that  the  conflict  now  begun  may  prove  the  most  desperate 
and  deadly  cut  and  thrust,  with  cannon,  rifle  and  sabre,  of  the 
century.  But  I  do  not  think  so.  Our  leading  people  do  not 
think  so." 

.loe  stood  looking  at  Trenhom  in  open-mouthed  wonder. 
One-half  of  this  flow  of  words  was  beyond  his  comprehension. 
But  he  gathered  this  much  out  of  it,  there  might  be  real  shoot- 
ing, man  against  man. 

Whon  Trenhom  paused  Joe's  dirty  finger  tips  sought  his 
scalp,  and,  after  a  moment's  scratching,  he  said  : 

"  Kunnell,  ter  bleege  you,  I  don't  mine  jinin',  hif  ther  crit- 
ter com'ny  is  ter  liter  roun'  hier." 

"  But  it  is  not  ;  it's  to  go  east  and  north." 

.loe  shook  his  head. 

"  The  pay  will  be  good  and  certain  ?  " 

"  Yaas." 

"  And  you  will  join  ?  " 

"  Don't  see  as  how  I  kin." 


44  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  You  are  surely  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  I  haint  the  skeery  sort  o'  a  cracklin'." 

"  Why  not  join  then  ?  " 

"  Waal,  yer  see  hi'm  shackelty  like,  an'  ther's  the  woman 
an'  cliillun." 

Trenhom's  gaze  was  riveted  on  "  the  woman,"  standing 
silent  and  statuesque  in  the  doorway,  the  soft  evening  breeze 
sweeping  her  light  calico  covering  close  about  her  shapely 
limbs,  flinging  them  out  in  bold  relief  for  the  admiration  of 
his  wondering  eyes.  Trenhom  was  not  ignorant  of  "  low 
down  life  "  around  him.  He  had  never  penetrated  one  of  the 
outcast  homes,  but  he  had  seen  the  men,  lazy,  loutish,  idle  and 
shiftless,  and  he  had,  in  passing  along  the  roads,  seen  the 
women  drawing  the  water,  cutting  and  carrying  the  wood, 
plowing,  seeding,  hoeing,  harvesting — however  little  or  much 
was  done — while  the  men  roamed  the  forest  with  a  gun  on 
their  shoulders  and  a  dog  at  their  heels,  or  lay  in  drunken 
stupor  about  the  cross-roads  groceries ;  and  he  had  seen 
enough  of  Joe  to  know  that  he  was  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  his  class.  He  was  a  "low  down,"  "  a  cracker,"  a  "  sand- 
hiller,"  '*  pore  white  trash,"  with  all  their  beastly  instincts, 
deo;raded  habits,  discrownins:  of  women,  and  disres^ard  for 
their  families. 

When  Joe  appealed  to  his  family  Trenhom  would  have 
turned  away. 

An  anomaly  had  crept  into  his  life. 

In  all  his  experience  the  slave  and  the  poor  white  lay 
prostrate  in  the  dust  grovelling — a  lash  on  the  back  of  one,  a 
heel  on  the  neck  of  the  otlier — both  equally  cringing,  fawning 
and  submissive. 

Now  he  had  been  refused  by  a  "low  down." 

A  toad  eater  had  dared  to  think. 

A  parasite  had  found  audacity  to  say  no. 

He  would  have  turned  away  in  anger  and  disgust,  but  he 
remained. 

He  was  in  the  power  of  the  grotesque. 

A  paradox  held  him. 

Joe's  mummery  for  refusal  was  so  a])surd  Trenhom  would 


"WISH'T  I   WERE  A.  SLABE.'" 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  47 

have  laughed.  He  only  smiled,  and  turned  to  the  statue  in 
the  doorway.  He  had  resolved  that  Joe  should  be  his  first  re- 
cruit. 

"  I  have  been  asking  Joe  to  join  my  cavalry  company." 

"Yees!"     Her  voice  was  soft,  low  and  musical,  and  but 
for  its  atrocious  patois^  would  have  been  delicious. 

"  And  go  away  to  the  war  ?  " 

"  Yees  ! " 

"Are  you  willing  that  he  should  go  ?" 

"Yees"!" 

"  He  says  he  must  stay  here  to  take  care  of  you  and  the 
children." 

"  Him  needn't  ter." 

"  You  will  get  along  very  well  with  him  gone  ?  " 

"  Yees. " 

"  And  you  are  quite  willing  to  have  him  go  ?  " 

"Yees." 

"  That's  patriotic." 

"Eh?" 

"  You  are  looking  at  the  matter  in  the  proper  light." 

"  Reckon." 

"  I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Trenhom  about  you." 

"Whobeshe-um?" 

"  My  wife." 

"  Yer  don't  needn't  ter." 

"  She  will  see  that  you  want  for  nothing." 

"  Reckon  I  kin  scrape." 

"  If  all  the  women  of  the  South  are  like  you,  we  will  pre- 
serve the  institution  of  slavery  from  the  Northern  vandals." 

"Eh?" 

"I  say  if  all  our  women  are  like  you,  we  will  preserve  our 
country  from  the  oppressions  of  Northern  tyrants  and  save 
our  slaves." 

"Wish't  I  wer  a  slabe." 

"What?" 

"  Wish't  I  was  a  niggah  slabe." 

"  You  ?"  exclaimed  Trenhom  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Yees." 
4 


48  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  You  have  children  ?  " 

"  Yees." 

"And  them  slaves?'' 

"  Yees." 

She  spoke  deliberately,  calmly,  without  motion  of  hand  or 
body,  with  no  tinge  of  passion  or  emotion  in  her  voice.  Her 
words  were  a  dead  level  of  soft  notes. 

Trenhom    looked  at  her  in  amazement,  then  exclaimed  : 

"  Great  heavens  !  " 

He  believed  that  slavery  was  of  Divine  origin.  That  it 
was  the  highest  plane  on  which  the  subordinate  class  could  be 
planted.  And  yet  when  a  woman,  whose  life  was  lower  than 
that  of  the  slaves,  whose  comforts  were  less,  whose  degrada- 
tion was  deeper,  deliberately  announced  that  she  envied  the 
slaves,  he  was  shocked.  Again  the  impulse  was  on  him  to 
ride  away,  but  he  turned  to  Joe. 

"Well,  Joe,  you  hear  what  your  wife  says." 

"  Yaas." 

"  She  is  willing  for  you  to  go." 

"  I  heern." 

"  You'll  go,  of  course." 

"Women's  pizen  critters;  they-um  don't  never  know 
nuthin'." 

"  I  think  yours  knows  what  she  is  about." 

"  Mout  be." 

"  I  shall  put  your  name  down." 

"  I'm  shackelty,  kunnel.     Shackelty." 

"You'll  do." 

"Hain't  worth  a  chitterling  when  I'ze  ther  shakes." 

"  You  haven't  the  ague  now  ?" 

"  They-um  be  snaglin  long  ter-morer." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go." 

"  I'd  like  ter  'bleege  yer,  kunnel." 

"  But  you  will  not  go  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  ter  'bleege  yer  like  all  wrath.     I  wud." 

Trenhom,  in  disgust,  turned  his  horse  and  rode  away  in 
the  dim  twilight.  His  mind  at  first  was  full  of  disgust  at  the 
evic^.ent  cowardice   of    .Toe.     Then    rose    up    before    him    the 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  49 

phantom  of  the  woman  who  wished  she  was  a  slave.  What 
must  her  life  have  been  ?  What  horrors  had  she  endured  ? 
What  storms  of  abasement  and  suffering  had  beat  upon  her 
that  she  would  in  those  calm,  low,  musical  tones,  wish  that 
she,  too,  and  her  children,  were  chattels  to  be  owned  and 
bought  and  sold  ? 

When  he  had  thought  of  the  words  his  mind  became  per- 
vaded with  the  woman,  with  her  perfect  figure,  and  her  face 
that  had  not  yet  been  seared  by  the  scorching  iron  passed 
over  it. 

Privation  is  a  sharp  graver. 

It  carves  deep  and  strong. 

But  here  was  a  face  of  resistance. 

For  twenty-two  years  the  graver  had  harrowed  the  surface 
and  not  made  a  scratch. 

When  the  ensemble  of  the  woman — her  life  and  appear- 
ance— occurred  to  him,  he  was  startled.  If  Melinda  had  been 
homely,  then  and  there  she  would  have  stepped  out  of  his 
mind  forever. 

The  autocracy  of  beauty  held  her  there. 

When  Trenhom  had  departed,  Joe  returned  to  his  pipe 
and  louno-e  ao-ainst  the  loo;s.  For  a  few  moments  wanderino- 
thoughts  of  "Lindy"  flitted  through  his  vacant  brain.  "  She 
wanted  fer  me  ter  gwan  ; "  yes,  she  "  wanted  fer  me  ter 
gwan;"  but  before  bedtime  this  had  disappeared;  without 
inquiry  as  to  why  or  wherefore,  without  regret  or  thought  of 
regret,  without  feeling,  or  self-condemnation,  disappeared, 
was  forgotten,  and  his  dull  brain  lapsed  again  to  vacancy. 
When  he  shouldered  his  rifle  in  the  morning,  even  Trenhom 
and  his  proposal  and  the  war  had  slipped  out  of  his  mind. 
All  about  him,  on  the  highways  and  bye-ways,  men  were 
whispering,  muttering,  gathering.  Joe  sauntered  listlessly  oft' 
into  the  forest,  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  a  dog  at  his  heels,  gazed 
into  the  trees  as  he  loitered  along,  pausing  and  listening  for 
"  game  sounds,"  then  sank  down  between  the  gnarled,  uplifted 
roots  of  a  huge  tree,  drew  out  his  corn-cob  and  rested  until 
rest  passed  into  slumber.  On  the  highways,  and  at  the 
country    cross-road,    trees    blossomed    with    placards  ;    every 


50  BRISTLING    WITH    THOKXS. 

blossom  a  proclamation,  enrollments  here,  enlistments  there. 
Infantry,  artillery,  and  cavalr}-. 

The  cross-road  groceries  overflowed  with  men  brave  and 
determined  ;  with  blusterers  strutting  and  swaggering  ;  the 
air  fetid  with  vaporing,  gasconade  and  profanity.  "Van- 
dais,"  "assassins,  "  "  nigger-lovers,"  -' miscegenationists." 

Billino-sorate  turned  ag-ainst  the  nation. 

Where  populations  were  dense  companies  filled  instantly  ; 
but  in  districts  where  it  required  one-third  or  more  of  all  the 
arms-bearing  people  to  fill  a  company,  there  was  more  delay. 

Enlistments  were  rapid  until  all  the  martial,  adventurous 
and  reckless  were  enrolled  ;  then  dragged  at  snail  pace.  The 
country  gathered  each  day  to  witness  the  parade  of  gleaming 
arms,  the  tramp  and  evolutions  of  '*  Tigers,"  of  "  Alligators," 
of  "  Yankee  Exterminators." 

The  novelty  was  exciting. 

The  fife  and  drum  were  exhilarating. 

The  "  cawn-juice"  was  abundant. 

They  hurrahed  for  the  "Exterminators;"  cheered  for 
"  Mass-si-sip,"  for  the  confederacy,  for  "  Jeff."  cursed  all 
"Yanks"  and  their  "  mulatter  president,"  and  returned  to 
their  homes  drunk. 

It  was  so  much  easier  to  hoot  and  get  fuddled  than  it  was 
to  sustain  the  fatigues  of  a  campaign,  the  restraints  of  military 
rule,  or  the  brunt  of  battle. 

The  first  "  rat-tat-tat "  reached  Joe's  ears.  He  went  with 
the  others. 

With  hands  in  pockets  he  stood  and  gaped. 

When  tired  of  standing  he  lay  lounging  against  a  tree  and 
gaped  wider. 

"  Licker  !  " 

"Yaas." 

He  never  refused. 

He  swallowed,  drew  the  back  of  his  red  hand  across  his 
face,  and  lounged  for  the  next  invitation. 

Drums,  bugles  and  banners  ;  declamations  and  decanters  ; 
pulpits  and  petticoats  did  their  work  but  slowly  in  Joe's 
neighborhood. 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  51 

It  drawled. 

The  "  fire-eaters  "  were  amazed,  then  indignant. 

They  had  expected  the  poor  white  population  to  flock  en 
masse  to  their  standards. 

They  did,  but  not  under  them.  The  glory  crowd  were  en- 
rolled ;  all  to  whom  patriotism,  honor,  love  of  adventure  could 
appeal  were  already  enlisted,  but  that  was  not  enough. 

Companies  were  yet  hungry  for  men,  their  stomachs  not 
half  full. 

With  wide  open  insatiate  mouths  they  pounced  upon  the 
gaping  crowd. 

They  coaxed  and  punctured,  taunted  and  lured. 

Every  device  of  cunning  was  applied  to  secure  the  full 
complement  of  men. 

Joe  was  approached. 

"  Hed  ter  keer  fer  the  woman." 

He  was  plied  with  gibes  and  whisky,  and  he  answered 
back : 

"  Hed  ter  keer  fer  the  woman." 

Drunk  or  sober  there  always  remained  with  him  sense 
enough  to  maunder  that  set  phrase,  until  he  sank  in  speech- 
less stupor. 

Joe  detested  the  Yankee, 

He  said  he  did,  and  he  did  so  far  as  he  was  capable  of 
despising  anything. 

Even  the  most  degraded  despise  something  or  somebody. 

There  is  always  a  lower  round  to  the  ladder. 

Joe  looked  upon  the  Yankee  as  the  lower  round. 

But  his  contempt  or  hatred,  for  both  at  times  took  fitful 
shape  in  his  feeble  brain,  were  not  strong  enough  to  drag  him 
to  the  mouth  of  Yankee  rifles. 

But  Joe  was  a  moth,  a  miller. 

He  would  flit  about  the  flame. 

He  was  a  chip,  safe  in  slack  water.  Hung  up  by  the  shore 
in  the  dead  he  might  have  remained. 

To  appeals  of  honor  he  was  deaf.  To  love  of  country 
irresponsive. 

From  orlorv  he  would  have  fled. 


52  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

But  the  "  grists  o' fun,"  the  "cawn  juice,"  the  "  hi-low- 
Jack,"  "nigger  equality,"  and  the  "Yank  yaapin'  and  an' 
lunnin'  like  a  houn' "  with  "nary  fight  in  a  bilin' of 'em," 
which  he  heard  in  the  camp,  were  things  that  appealed  to 
his  passions  and  desires. 

Flung  into  the  strong  current,  he  was  caught  up  and 
hurled  away  to  the  muster  roll,  where  he  made  his  mark. 

On  the  long  list  every  name  except  seven  had  over  against 
it  an  X  and  "  his  mark." 

Joe  was  enlisted.  He  was  a  soldier  of  the  Confeder- 
acy. 

The  boys  slapped  him  on  the  back,  gave  three  cheers  for 
Joe,  three  more  and  a  tiger  for  the  Confederacy,  and — pro- 
duced their  flasks. 

The  fire  burned  low  on  the  Ratley  hearth — the  little  ones 
lay  and  breathed  softly,  lost  to  chill,  discomfort  and  dirt. 

Melinda  sat  watching  the  flame  spirting,  flinging  up  its 
golden  tongues  from  behind  the  green  back  log,  then  hiding 
away  in  the  gloom;  watched  until  the  flame  and  flare  died 
out,  then  she  covered  the  glowing  coals  in  the  hot  ashes,  lay 
down  beside  the  children  and — calmly  slept. 

The  morrow  dawned — and  the  morrow  after — day  followed 
day,  and  Joe  came  not. 

A  camp  was  formed  when  Joe  enlisted. 

He  joined  it  at  once. 

He  ate  and  slept  and  drank  and  carded. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days  there  was  bustle,  confusion,  hurry, 
partings,  cheers  and  tears. 

An  hundred  men  stood  in  the  road. 

A  drum  and  fife,  a  flag — tramp!  tramp!  tramp! 

Some  beat  back  tlie  rising  lumps  in  their  throats,  turned 
their  faces  over  their  shoulders  and  looked — looked  eagerly — 
longingly,  for  the  last  time. 

Others  looked  steadily  or  indifi'erently  ahead. 

Among  them  was  Joe. 

From  the  day  he  enlisted  he  had  neither  seen,  heard  from 
or  sent  word  to  Melinda. 


IN    SEARCH    OF    A    RECRUIT.  53 

Without  a  message,  without  a  tear,  without  a  thought,  he 
marched  on,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

A  cloud  of  dust  rose  up  behind  him,  the  grocery,  the* 
camp — all  familiar  scenes  disappeared. 

He  was  swallowed  up  in  the  gray  passion-crested  sea  that 
lashed  against  the  Union. 


04  liKlSTLlNU    WITH    THORNS. 


CHAPTER   V. 


The  sun  had  already  passed  from  sight,  leaving  its  trail  of 
soft  twilight,  when  Walter  Trenhom  turned  from "  the  road 
and  rode  under  the  shadows  of  the  slender  shafted  tulip 
poplars,  crowned  with  gorgeous,  flame-colored,  bell-shaped 
flow^ers,  that  lined  the  broad  carriage-way  through  his  expan- 
sive grounds,  up  to*  his  door.  Before  he  had  passed  half  the 
distance  an  aged  colored  man  stood  in  the  roadway  a  few 
yards  in  advance  of  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  porch,  and 
called: 

''Hi,  dah,  you  Pete!" 

«Yi-i." 

"  Dat  de  way  t'  ansah  youm  bettahs!  " 

No  response  from  Pete. 

'•Owdashus,  sassy,  Ic.zy  niggah!     Sprv  you'seff  up  dah!" 

"  He  I  is." 

Pete  turned  a  hand-spring,  landing  on  his  feet,  the  crown 
of  his  uncovered  kinky  head  grazing  the  rotund  stomach  of 
Uncle  Awk.  Uncle  Awk  cuffed  Pete,  pronounced  liiin  a  lazy, 
"  no  'count,  triflin'  monkey  niggah,"  and  wound  up  by  notify- 
ing him  to  "'spect  his  bettahs,"  and  "mine  youm  mannalis 
foah  Mawst  Walt." 

Awk  started  in  life  with  a  better  name.  Originally  he  was 
Plutarch.  His  earliest  teeth  cut  out  the  first  three  letters. 
The  next  letter  was  dropped  among  the  cotton  bolls  before 
he  found  his  first  pair  of  breeches.  Thus  he  had  blossomed 
into  "Ark,"  broadened  by  the  southern  tongue  into  "Awk." 
Pete  was  yet  rubbing  liis.ears  when  his  master  rode  up;  then 
he  sprang  to  the  bridle.  Awk,  who  was  hatless,  touched  the 
grizzled  locks  over  his  forehead,  looked  the  warm  beast  over, 
and  asked: 


"  I    WAS    A    DALTON;     I-  AM    A    TRENHOM.  55 

''  How  um  git?" 

"  Very  free,"  replied  his  master. 

"  Dats  um,  fine  crittah  dat — fine  crittah  dat." 

"  I  rode  from.  Burty's —  " 

"  What  dat,  Maws  Walt?     Youm  bin  ter  Burty  with  dis 
yere  cole! " 

"  Why  yes,  I  rode  him  there,  and  as  he  is  back,  I  rather 
think  I  rode  him  back." 

Awk  was  standing  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  his  head  set 
well  back,  his  hands  raised. 

"  Foa  de  Lawd,  Maws  Walt,  you  rain  yoursef  widout 
Awk.     Yes,  sah." 

Trenhom  laughed. 

"Youm  doan  know  nuffin  'bout  hoss  crittah,  sah.  No, 
sah." 

"What  hurt  will  it  do  him?" 

"Hurt,  sah!  Hurt,  sah.  Dat  cole  got  no  mo  leg  dan  a 
baby,  sah.     No,  sah." 

"  He  did  very  well." 

"  Cole  like  dat  good  fo'  shawt,  sah;  dat's  it,  sah,  good  fo' 
shawt.     Heah,  you  done  bin  ride  him  ten  mile,  sah." 

"That  isn't  much." 

"  How  you  tawk,  sah.  Youm  doan  kno'  no  mo'  'bout  hoss 
crittah  dan  de  yan  leel  baby  o'  you'n,  sah;  no,  sah." 

Walter  laughed  again  at  the  zeal  of  the  old  man. 

"  Ride  dat  cole  ten  mile — san'  road  at  dat.  Who  ebbah 
heah  sich  foolishness;  I  nebbah  done  heah  de  like." 

"Look  at  him,  Uncle  Awk;  see  how  fresh  he  is.  He  isn't 
injured  in  the  least." 

"Injah!     He    done   roonationed,  dat   cole  is.     I  can't  hab 
dat  no  mo',  sah." 

"All  right,  Uncle.     I  won't  do  so  any  more." 

"Dat  you  shan',  sah!  no,  sah!  Clah  ter  goodness,  ten 
mile  in  de  san'  road.  Dah,  you,  Pete.  Go  keeaful  wid  'im — 
lazy,  no  'count,  niggah.  Hab  Jack  bine  'im  leg  wid  flannen; 
bine  um  tite,  yer  heah?  Ten  mile  in  a  san'  road,"  and  he 
stood  watching  the  colt  disappear  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  muttering,  "  ten  mile   in    de  san'  road,  clah  ter  good- 


56  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

ness."  When  the  horse  had  passed  from  view  he  turned  to 
his  master,  who  was  being  dusted  by  a  colored  boy.  Here 
was  a  fresh  trial  for  Awk. 

"  'Clar,"  he  exclaimed,  "  ef  dese  yah  growin  niggahs  ain't 
mo'  igranteh  dan  muels.  Dat  dey  is.  Yeah  you  Sam.  What 
youm  doin'  wid  dat  yeeh  wiss.  Bushiii  youm  mawstah  up  an' 
down  like  a  hoss.  Doan  you  know  mo'  an  dat.  Heah  (taking 
the  broom),  dis  yeah  way.  You  see  you  Uncle  Awk.  Mine 
now  dis  yeeh  !  see  dat !  Doun,  dat's  it  !  Saff,  dats  de  way  ; 
not  hawd  as  ef  yez  scurrin'  de  bun  cruss  from  cawn  pone. 
Saff  !  like  dis  yeer.  Yer  see  dat  ?  Wid  de  grain — so  !  yer 
see  dat.  Den  yer  hain't  done  pushin'  de  dirt  into  de  nap. 
'Clar  ter  goodness  ef  I  can  lawn  dese  yeeh  ignoramus  niggahs 
nuffin  ;   muss  do  eberyting  myseff  tell  I'ze  'clar  done  use  up.'' 

Mrs.  Walter  Trenhom,  hearing  the  footfalls  of  the  horse, 
and  the  voice  of  uncle  Awk  in  front  of  the  house,  came  out 
from  the  parlor,  and  stood  in  the  doorway,  an  amused  specta- 
tor of  a  scene  repeated  every  time  Master  Walter  rode  out 
and  returned. 

Mrs.  Walter  was  a  Southern  woman,  born  in  Mississippi. 
A  daughter  of  one  of  the  oldest,  best  known  and  most  influ- 
ential families  in  the  state.  Her  father  had  represented  his 
district  several  times  in  congress  and  died  full  of  years  and 
honors.  At  eighteen  Louise  Dalton  was  a  wife.  At  twenty 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  of  her  luxurious  home  watching 
uncle  Awk  teach  the  art  of  dusting.  She  was  a  grand  look- 
ing woman  standing  there,  her  face  wreathed  with  smiles,  her 
large,  moist,  violet  blue  eyes  sparkling  with  light.  Mrs. 
Walter  was  a  blonde,  of  medium  height,  broad,  low  forehead, 
straight,  firm  nose,  an  honest,  liberal  mouth,  beautiful  white 
teeth,  and  a  form  cast  in  a  generous  mold  without  a  super- 
fluous particle  of  flesh  about  her.  She  was  a  healthy,  whole- 
souled  looking  woman.  If  there  was  anything  small,  or  mean, 
or  selfish  in  her  nature,  there  was  nothing  in  her  outward  ap- 
pearance to  betray  it.  As  Walter  placed  his  foot  on  the  lower 
step  of  the  stoop  to  go  up,  his  wife  advanced  to  the  foot  of 
the  veranda  to  meet  him.  Throwing  her  arm  about  him  and 
cooing  in  his  ear,  they  crossed  the  veranda,   passed   through 


"I  WAS  A  dalton;   I  am  a  trenhom."  57 

the  door,  and  entered  the  broad  hall  that  ran  from  front  to 
rear  of  their  home. 

Awk,  watching  his  master's  receding  form,  muttered: 

"  Sumpshus  niggah  ;  good  enough  to  clean  tatah  fo'  pore 
white  trash  —  idee  he  wiss  gen'l'man  like  Maws  Walt, 
clah  ! " 

After  Walter  had  changed  his  clothes  and  they  were 
seated  at  the  tea  table,  he  spoke  of  the  news  at  Burty's — 
the  ''  fall  of  Sumter." 

"Can  it  be  possible?"  said  his  wife  in  a  voice  that  be- 
trayed her  deep  agitation. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it." 

He  looked  up,  and  to  his  surprise  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears. 

"Why,  Lou!"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  it  now,  dear.  After  tea — all  too  soon 
then."  She  had  heard  none  of  the  details  ;  only  Sumter  had 
fallen.     But  that  was  more  than  enough. 

The  conversation  drifted  to  the  state  of  the  weather,  the 
roads,  the  illness  in  "servants'  quarters,"  and  finally  to  Awk 
and  that  abused  colt. 

After  tea  they  retired  to  the  library,  Walter  lighted  a  cigar, 
threw  himself  back  in  his  easy  chair,  and  -Mrs.  Walter,  after  a 
visit  to  her  babe,  came  and  sat  on  a  low  stool  by  his  side. 
Then  Walter  told  his  wife  all  he  had  heard  of  the  bombard- 
ment and  fall  of  Sumter  as  it  came  to  him  at  Burty's.  The 
wife  listened  in  silence;  she  wondered  at  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  told  it,  and  the  transparent  delight  the  narration 
gave  him.  Her  clasped  hands  grew  closer  together,  the  warm 
glow  fled  away  from  her  cheeks,  and  the  glad  light  stole  out 
of  her  eyes.  Walter  failed  to  notice  it.  He  was  enveloped 
in  the  smoke  of  burning  Sumter,  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
thouo-ht  of  nothino*  but  that  and  the  o-lowino-  words  in  which 
he  was  painting  the  scene  on  the  mind  of  his  listening  wife. 

When  he  concluded  he  blew  a  fresh  cloud  from  his  fragrant 
Havana,  the  blue  aromatic  wreath  circled  his  head.  Then  his 
wife  spoke,  slowly,  pathetically. 

"  I  am  grieved  and — surprised." 


58  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"You  know,  Lou,  that  our  people  were  building  assailing 
batteries." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  And  that  the  assault  had  been  threatened  for  some 
time." 

"  But  I  did  not  think  it  would  proceed  so  far.  I  believed 
in  the  power  of  that  better  judgment  which  sometimes  springs 
out  of  delay." 

"  Then  you  thought  the  Yankees  would  run  away  in  the 
night  without  fighting.     So  did  I." 

"  No,  Walter,  that  was  not  it." 

"  Didn't  think  they  would  run  away?  You  thought  they 
would  surrender  when  they  were  convinced  of  the  determina- 
tion of  our  gallant  friends  ?  " 

"  Not  that  either." 

"  I  give  it  up,  Lou.  You  who  have  always  been  the  soul 
of  transparency  are  wrapped  in  a  mist  too  deep  for  poor  me." 

"Not  intentionally,  dear.  My  belief  was  that  our  South- 
ern friends  would  not  proceed  to  the  extremity  of  violent  re- 
sistance to  the  government." 

Walter's  legs  were  crossed,  he  was  leaning,  rather  lying 
back  in  his  chair.  When  his  wife's  full  meaning  penetrated 
his  mind,  his  legs  were  uncrossed,  he  sat  bolt  upright  and  with 
wide  open  eyes,  looked  down  in  amazement  at  the  woman 
who  sat  there  telling  liim  she  did  not  believe  South  Carolina 
would  hurl  shot  and  shell  at  the  Union.  For  an  instant  it 
appeared  as  if  he  doubted  tlie  evidence  of  his  ears.  Yet  these 
were  the  words.  She  did  not  believe,  and— this  was  his  wife 
— a  woman  Southern  born  and  bred,  who  did  not  believe  that 
the  South  would  cross  arms  with  the  Union. 

"Surely  you  do  not  believe  the  gallant  men  of  South 
Carolina  are  cowards  ?  " 

"  Indeed  no,  they  are  gallant  and  brave  like  all  true  South- 
ern gentlemen." 

"Well,  Lou,  I  confess—" 

"  I  know  your  opinions,  dear,  and  the  opinions  of  all  our 
personal  friends.  I  have  heard  them  in  our  parlors,  over  our 
tables,  over  the  tables  of  our  friends,  at  all  the  social  gather- 


"l    WAS    A    DALTON;     I    AM    A    TRENHOil."  59 

ings  we  have  attended  during  the  past  year,  and  I  do  not  con- 
cur in  them  or  approve  them." 

"  And  you  have  remained  silent  all  this  time  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  I  thought  it  was  an  entirely  harmless  ebul- 
lition of  feeling,  a  sort  of  political  spasm  that  needed  but  time 
for  a  physician,  and  I  would  not  invite  discussion  and  conten- 
tion with  my  husband  about  a  matter  that  I  supposed  to  be  of 
no  consequence." 

"  Surely  the  right  to  secede  and  the  right  to  resist  are 
of  some  consequence." 

"  Perhaps  !  I  am  not  a  success,  you  know,  at  chopping 
words,  but  it  occurred  to  me  if  secession  and  resistance  were 
never  put  to  the  test,  it  made  no  difference  whether  the 
abstract  right,  I  think  that  is  what  I  have  heard  you  call 
it,  did  or  did  not  exist.  And  fully  believing  it  never  would  be 
tested,  I  remained  mute." 

"  You  astonish  me  ;  indeed  you  do,  Lou  !  " 

"  By  having  remained  silent  ?  " 

"  Something  at  that  ;  but  more  that  you  do  not  detest  the 
government  of  the  United  States." 

She  raised  from  her  low  cushioned  seat,  stood  up  beside 
him,  placed  her  soft,  white  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and,  looking 
calmly  into  his  face,  said  in  words  that  were  almost  reverential 
in  their  tone  : 

"  My  dear  husband,  we  have  never  known  the  government 
of  the  United  States  except  through  its  blessing." 

*■'  That  is  the  past,  Lou  !  The  past.  When  the  govern- 
ment was  controlled  by  the  Southerners — when  the  South  was 
the  government — when  the  South  ruled  it,  as  it  did  for  sixty 
out  of  seventy  years  of  its  existence."* 

"  I  do  not  know  enough  of  politics.  Waiter,  to  know  who 
ruled  it.  But  the  blessing  my  grandfather  and  my  father 
knew,  and  I  and  you  know." 

"I  don't  deny,  Lou,  the  blessings  of  the  past.  It  is  the 
future  we  are  looking  to  and  guarding." 

"  When  these  blessings  are  threatened  it  will  be  time 
enough." 

*Reply  of  Senator  Hammond  to  Senator  Seward  in  the  United  States  senate. 


60  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"They  are  threatened,  and  now." 

"  How,  dear  ?  '' 

"  Don't  you  know  that  the  North  has  elected  the  Presi- 
dent ?  That  the  election  is  purely  geographical  ?  That  the 
South  will  have  no  voice  in  the  acovernment.  That  the  <rov- 
ernment  will  be  the  North,  and  they  will  control  it  and  control 
it  in  their  own  interests  ?  "  , 

'*I  see  no  great  danger  in  that." 

'  Sit  down,  dear."  His  wife  dropped  back  to  her  low- 
seat. 

"  Let  us  talk  of  this.     1  confess  you  greatly  surprise  me." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  You  see  no  wrong  and  danger  in  the  North  controlling 
the  government  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  If  the  South,  as  you  say,  has  controlled 
the  government  sixty  out  of  seventy  years,  it  seems  but  fair 
the  North  should  have  opportunity  to  control  it  four  out  of 
seventy-four  years." 

"  I  declare,  Lou,  you  make  me  doubt  the  evidences  of  my 
senses." 

"It  does  seem  to  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Trenhom,  "if  the 
North  submitted  to  us  sixty  years  we  can  safely  submit  to 
them  four,  and  if  that  government  was  a  blessing  to  them 
as  well  as  to  us  during  all  that  time,  we  have  no  reason  or 
right  to  apprehend  they  will  use  their  power  to  make  it  worse 
for  us  in  the  years  to  come  than  we  did  for  them  in  the  past." 

"  And  you,  a  Dalton,  speak  thus  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  not  a  Dalton  ;  I  was  a  Dalton  ;  I  am  a  Tren- 
hom." 

"  Thank  you  !  "       ^ 

Walter  drew  the  pure,  white  forehead  to  him  and  imprinted 
a  kiss  upon  it. 

"  And  true  to  my  husband  and  his  interests  and  happiness," 
continued  this  noble  wife,  "let  it  carry  me  where  it  will.  Let 
the  consequences  be  what  they  may." 

Walter's  hand  was  resting  upon  the  arm  of  the  easy  chair 
in  which  he  sat.     She  laid  hor  hand  in  his  as  she  spoke. 

He  remembered  it  lonsr  afterwards. 


"l    WAS    A    DALTON;     I    AM    A    TRENHOM."  61 

The  time  came  when  these  words,  "  Let  the  consequences 
be  what  they  may,"  were  stamped  on  his  soul. 

When  she  walked  through  the  furnace  to  illuminate 
them  to  his  dying  eyes. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  the  sweet  words  of  this  beau- 
tiful woman  assuring  him  of  undying  devotion.  It  was  grate- 
ful incense. in  his  proiid  young  nostrils,  and  a  loving  light 
came  into  his  eyes  as  he  drew  her  golden  crowned  head 
to  him.  But  the  delirium  of  secession  was  on  him.  He  could 
Qot  remain  silent. 

"  The  two  sections,"  he  said,  "  differ  in  many  essential 
things.     The  North  has  no  peculiar  institutions,  and  we  have." 

"  Unfortunately,"  interposed  his  wife. 

"  Yes,  unfortunately,"  he  added,  "  but  it  is  here,  and  while 
the  rule  of  the  South  has  done,  and  would  do,  the  North  no 
injury,  the  rule  of  the  North  and  the  election  of  a  sectional 
president  is  a  blow  at  that  institution.  It  is  a  compacting  of 
the  anti-slavery  North  to  make  war  on  slavery.  In  effect,  the 
election  of  Mr.  Lincoln  is  a  Northern  declaration  of  a  war  of 
extermination  against  slavery." 

"I  hope  so!  I  earnestly  hope  it  is  !  I  shall  thank  God  if 
it  is."  Mrs.  Trenhom's  voice  was  soft,  calm  and  low  at  first. 
It  was  fervid  and  solemn  at  the  last. 

"  Lou  ! "  exclaimed  her  surprised  husband. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  shall  thank  the  good  Father  in  Heaven  if 
they  will  put  an  end  to  slavery  by  peaceable  means." 

"  My  dear,  you  speak  like  an  Abolitionist." 

"  I  am  one.     So  are  you,  darling." 

"I  !  " 

"  You  !  " 

"An  Abolitionist  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  good  husband." 

"  Oh,  no'l  " 

"  If  one  of  our  servants  escaped  to  the  North,  would  you 
put  any  hounds  on  his  track  !  " 

"  No.     God  forbid." 

"Would  you  invoke  any  fugitive  slave  law  to  bring  him 
back?" 


(i2  IJKlSTLINi;     WITH    THOK.NS. 

"Indeed  I  would  not." 

"If  all  our  servants  should  flee  away  to  the  North,  what 
would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Probably  help  them  to  start  in  life  in  a  new  land.'' 

"Not  '  probably,'  Walter.     There  is  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  It  can  never  be  tested,  so  it  is  impossible  to  say  with 
certainty." 

"  Why  not  tested  ?  " 

"  Our  servants  could  not  be  induced  to  leave." 

A  questioning  smile  flashed  up  into  his  wife's  face. 

Waiter  noticed  it,  and  added  :  "  You  do  not  agree  with 
me?" 

"  No,  dear.  I  am  certain  you  are  mistaken  as  to  sc^me  of 
them,  and  I  am  quite  confident  there  is  little  or  no  difi"erence 
of  feeling  among  them  all  on  the  subject." 

"  You  think  they  would  leave  us  if  they  could  ?  " 

"  I  am  confident  of  it." 

'*  We  have  always  treated  them  kindly  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  No  whip  has  ever  been  used  upon  the  plantation  since 
you  became  its  mistress." 

"  No,  dear." 

"  And  they  know  you  will  not  permit  families  to  be  broken 
or  any  of  them  to  be  sold." 

"  They  are  grateful  for  it.  Deeply  grateful  that  it  is  so. 
And  I  am  so  olad."  There  was  no  exultation  in  her  voice.  It 
was  simply  joy.  She  repeated  it  again  :  "  I  am  so  glad  and 
so  thankful  to  you." 

It  sounded  like  a  hymn  of  praise. 

"And  yet  you  think  they  would  leave  us  if  they 
could." 

"  I  do." 

"Who,  Lou?" 

"  Aunt  Chloe,  to  begin  with." 

"  Dear  mother's  old  servant  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ungrateful  !  " 

"  Not  ungrateful,  Walter." 


"l    WAS    A    DALTOX;     I    AM    A    TRENIIOM."  63 

For  the  first  time  this  woman  looked  reproachfully  at  her 
husband. 

"Why,  Lou,  did  I  not  at  your  request  purchase  her  hus- 
band, who  was  about  being  sold  to  a  trader." 

"  You  did,  indeed,  Walter,  and  it   was   good  of  you,  very 
good  of  you." 

"  And  now  Chloe—  " 
"  Blesses  you  for  it  every  day,  Walter." 
"  And  would  leave  us  if  she  could." 

"  Not  if  she  could  remain,  and  be  free,  but  freedom  is  more 
precious  to  her  than  even  we  are." 
"  What  has  she  to  complain  of  ?  " 
''  Nothing  but  the  future." 
"The  future?" 

"Yes  ;  she  cannot  know  what  may  happen   in  the  future, 
or  who  may  own  her." 

"  Does  she  think  I  would  permit  her  to  be  sold  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no  !     But  when  we  are  gone." 
"  She  is  old,  and  we  are  young." 

He  spoke  with  the  confidence  of  youth  and  strength  in  his 
voice. 

"  But  life  is  uncertain,  dear,  and  poor  Chloe  often  wonders, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  a  great  ache  in  her  heart,  what  will 
become   of    her,  her   husband   and  her  children,  if  anything 
should  happen  to  us." 
"Poor  old  Chloe." 
"  Yes,  I  feel  for  her  deepl}-." 
"  She  was  my  nurse." 
"And  she  loves  you  like  a  mother." 

"And  she  thinks  I  would  permit  harm  to  come  to  her  ?" 
"  No,  Walter,  not  that.     But  she  dreads  the  evil  days  that 
may  come,  when  you  may  be  unable  to  protect  her." 

Walter  had  ceased  smokino-  he  was  standin^r,  leanino- 
against  the  end  of  a  grand  piano,  lost  in  thought.  His  wife 
came  and  stood  beside  him,  her  clasped  hands  folded  across 
his  shoulder  and  looking  lovingly  into  his  face. 

Mrs.  Trenhom's  mother  was  a  North  Carolinian  and  a 
Quaker.     In  the  mind  of  her  daughter,  lier  only  child,  she  had 


»i-i  liiaMLl-NG     Willi     illoli.N^. 

early  instilled  her  own  detestation  of  man-owning,  and  hei- 
dyiiif^  request  to  that  daughter  was,  if  she  ever  became  the 
owner  of  slaves  in  her  own  right  she  would  free  them  at  th(.' 
earliest  ]iossible  moment. 

Mrs.  Trenhom's  father  was  dead,  and  the  slaves  and  other 
property  which  she  inherited  remained  in  tlie  hands  of  trustees 
until  her  twenty-first  year,  then  they  would  be  hers. 

Her  course  was  then  lonor  aoro  determined. 

When  she  was  married  she  exacted  of  her  husband  but 
one  condition  as  to  her  property. 

When  the  trusteeship  would  expire  and  the  servants 
would  become  hers  to  control,  they  must  be  freed,  sent  North, 
and  furnished  with  money  enough  to  start  in  life,  and  tliis 
agreement  was  reduced  to  writing.  Thus  she  had  purified  her 
own  skirts  of  the  sin.  She  cheerfully  awaited  the  year  that 
was  to  yet  elapse;  waited  until  her  own  servants  were  in  the 
North,  free  and  succeeding.  Then  she  hoped  tlie  persuasive 
force  of  results  would  lead  to  the  emancipation  of  her  hus- 
band's servants.     But  she  had  said  nothing. 

She  was  patient. 

She  was  not  a  woman  to  press  seed  until  she  destroyed  its 
life. 

She  waited. 

Abhorrence  of  slavery  was  in^her  heart. 

Her  mind  was  full  of  devising. 

She  was  educating  her  husband  by  slow  and  easy  lessons. 

She  foujid  him  a  believer  in  the  lash  and  the  auction 
block,  and  that  slavery  was  the  natural  and  rightful  condition 
of  all  colored  people,  his  own  included. 

Without  his  marking  the  progress,  he  had  grown  in 
knowledge. 

The  whip  was  expelled  from  his  plantation. 

He  saw  the  cruelty  of  the  sale  and  sepai  ation  of  families. 

He  had  grown  to  know  his  own  servants,  take  an  interest 
in  them,  and  sometimes  to  wish  they  were  all  free.  Not 
because  it  was  their  right  or  his  duty.  But  because  of  his 
knowledge  of  them,  his  interest  in  them,  his  affections  for 
them. 


"l    WAS    A    DALTON:     I    AM    A    TRENHOM."  65 

As  to  other  people's  servants,  his  opinion  was  unchanged. 

He  believed  in  slavery. 

It  was  a  divine  institution,  a  burden  perhaps  to  the  white 
men,  but  a  burden  that  ought  to  be  borne  for  the  sake  of  its 
blessing  to  the  slave.  Standing  there  by  the  piano,  his  wife's 
soft  hands  resting  on  his  shoulder,  her  tender,  honest  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  face,  Walter  was  troubled.  Chloe  had  been 
his  nurse.  In  childhood  he  drew  life  from  her  breast.  She 
was  his  second  mother.  The  past  grew  up  before  him.  A 
thousand  tender  acts  clustered  around  Chloe  like  a  halo. 
Then  followed  the  scene  when  he  purchased  her  husband. 
His  black,  loving  nurse  prostrate  upon  the  earth,  devouring 
his  hands,  calling  his  mother  and  father  in  glory  to  witness  it, 
calling  down  Heaven's  blessings  upon  his  head.  He  thought 
of  Chloe;  Chloe,  on  whose  breast  he  had  lain  as  an  infant; 
Chloe,  on  whose  bosom  the  head  of  his  dying  mother  rested; 
thought  of  her  owned  by  another;  thought  of  her  as  she  pic- 
tured herself,  if  by  any  fatal  mischance  she  should  pass  into 
other  hands,  and  he  shivered. 

His  wife  observed  his  emotions. 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Chloe." 

"Poor  Chloe!" 

"Poor,  faithful  Chloe;  and  she  desires  to  be  free." 

"Oh!   Walter,  would  you?" 

"Would  I?" 

"If  you  were  a  slave,  would  you?" 

"hJw  absurd!" 

"  No,  dear,  not  absurd.  As  a  child  you  never  had  a  joy 
or  a  sorrow  but  was  shared  by  Chloe.  Your  every  pain 
touched  her;  your  every  joy  lifted  her  up.  How,  then,  can 
you  say  her  feeling  diiFers  from  you?" 

"  But  she  is  a  negro." 

"  And,  Walter,  there  is  one  God  and  Father  for  us  all." 

Her  soft  words,  deliberately  uttered,  sank  down  into  his 
soul. 

She  was  graving  in  deep,  strong  lines. 


66  BlUSTLl^sG    WITH    THOIIXS. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


I    CANNOT    WISH    YOU    SUCCESS. 


The  conversation  had  taken  a  turn  not  contemplated  by 
Walter  Trenhom. 

He  had  returned  home  full  of  Sumter,  of  the  "  Tapier 
battery,"  of  the  "iron  battery,"  Fort  Moultrie,  Fort  Johnson, 
the  floating  battery  in  the  cove  of  Sullivan's  island,  the  girdle 
of  storm  encompassing  Fort  Sumter;  the  first  signal  shell 
from  Fort  Johnson  at  half-past  four  on  the  morning  of  April 
12;  the  smoke  and  curling  flame  rising  from  the  burning 
quarters  in  the  fort  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  next 
day;  the  flying  shot;  the  bursting  shells;  the  flagstaff  torn 
awa}-  at  half-past  one  of  the  afternoon  of  the  13tli;  the  sur- 
render; the  pealing  bells;  the  thundering  cannon;  the  tumult 
of  exultation. 

All  this  was  in  his  heart  and — the  resolve  formed  at 
Burty's  to  organize  and  beat  back  the  "  northern  vandals." 

When  he  entered  his  door  he  was  eager  to  tell  it  all. 

It  seemed  so  easy. 

Of  Sumter  and  the  carnival  of  joy  at  Charleston  and  else- 
where in  the  South  lie  had  told  all  he  knew. 

But  the  resolve  at  Burty^s — the  organization  of  military 
companies — how  would  he  tell  it. 

They  had  been  so  peaceful  and  happy  together. 

Since  their  wedding  they  had  never  parted  for  a  day. 

She  was  bound  up  in  him  and  ho  in  her. 

And  now  he  was  charged  with  a  communication  that  must 
tear  them  asunder,  perhaps  forever. 

For  an  instant  there  flitted  through  his  mind  a  feeling  of 
regret  that  he  had  gone  to  Burty's  or  that  he  had  made  any 
pledge  to  organize  a  company.  But  it  was  only  for  an  in- 
stant.' Walter  Trenhom  was  a  brave  man.    He  was  a  stranger 


67 

to  fear.  For  himself  he  had  no  regrets,  His  duty  was  clear. 
It  was  his  duty  to  serve  his  state. 

A  man  may  err;  his  ideas  of  duty  may  be  false;  but  true 
or  false,  to  follow  the  star  of  duty  down  into  the  depths,  is  an 
act  of  unsurpassable  moral  sublimity.  This  courage  Walter 
Trenhom  possessed.     But  how  would  he  tell  it  to  his  wife? 

Men  who  would  charge  a  battery  halt  before  a  tear. 

Trenhom  halted. 

His  wife  disapproved  of  armed  resistance  to  the  govern- 
ment. 

That  resistance  had  been  resolved  on. 

It  had  commenced. 

His  state  was  in  collision  with  the  old  Union. 

He  was  a  citizen  of  the  state.  He  owed  it  allegiance  and 
military  service.* 

It  required  that  service. 

He  must  render  it. 

And  yet  he  stumbled  at  the  words  which  must  break  that 
fact  to  his  wife. 

After  discussing  Chloe  he  remained  mute  some  minutes, 
all  these  thoughts  coursing  rapidly  through  his  active  brain. 
Then  he  sat  on  the  piano  stool,  ran  his  fingers  listlessly  over 
the  keys  and  said: 

"  Lou,  it  was  not  the  South  who  began  this  contest." 

"AVas  it  not  the  South  that  fired  the  first  gun?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Was  not  that  the  beginning  of  actual  contest;  was  not  it 
the  first  blow?" 

"By  no  means,  dear."  His  fingers  were  still  running 
softly  over  the  keys.  "The  first  blow  was  when  iVnderson 
removed  from  Moultrie  to  Sumter." 

His  wife  looked  at  him,  her  violet  eyes  raised  in  inquiry. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Walter,  "  the  removal  was  the  first  act 
of  hostility." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend." 

"  Why,  you  see,  Moultrie  was  untenable.  Anderson  was 
quite  at  the  mercy  of  our  friends." 

"  So  I  understood." 


68  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 

"Then  he  removed  into  the  stronger  fort." 

"  Was  not  that  his  duty  ?" 

"  Duty  ?     It  was  full  ol"  hostile  significance." 

"  My  dear,  try  to  put  youi^elf  in  Anderson's  place.  An 
officer  entrusted  by  your  government  with  command,  would 
you  not  feel  it  was  a  betrayal  of  your  trust  if  you  failed  to 
place  your  command  where  they  would  be  most  secure." 

The  warm  blood  rushed  to  her  husband's  face  for  an  in- 
stant, flickered  and  died  out. 

"  I  can't  say  what  I  would  have  done." 

"  I  can.  You  would  have  done  what  this  Major  Anderson 
did,  and  I  honor  him  for  it," 

She  was  making  it  up-hill  work  for  Walter. 

*'  Suppose,  dear,  that  it  was  his  duty,  and  that  I  would 
have  done  the  same  in  his  place.  It  was,  nevertheless,  a 
violation  of  faith  on  the  part  of  the  Washington  govern- 
ment." 

"  My  love,  I  do  not  profess  to  understand  these  matters, 
but  it  does  seem  to  me  it  is  the  right  and  duty  of  the  govern- 
ment to  protect  its  property  wherever  it  may  be  and  to  order 
its  soldiers  where  they  may  be  most  secure." 

"  But  that  property  was  in  South  Carolina." 

"  And  in  the  United  States." 

'*  Oh,  no.  South  Carolina  has  seceded  and  is  out  of  tlie 
Union." 

"  Yes,  I  know;  they  have  ordinanced — is  not  tliat  it  ? — out 
of  the  Union.  But  tlie  Union  remains,  and  the  right  of  tlie 
Union  to  the  soil  of  South  Carolina  remains." 

"  Oh,  Lou  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  frequently  heard  dear  papa  say  that." 

"What,  dear?" 

"That  nothing  but  successful  revolution  could  destroy  the 
ownership  of  the  Union  over  the  soil  of  South  Carolina  or  its 
right  to  enforce  its  lav/s." 

"  That  revolution  has  begun." 

"  But  it  will  never  succeed."  She  stood  up  straiglit  before 
him;  her  right  hand  slightly  raised;  its  soft  palm  like  a  deli- 
cately tinted  pink  shell,  open  toward  him;  her  beautiful  face 


69 

glowing,  her  fine  eyes  sparkling—"  Never  !  never  !     God  for- 
bid ! " 

Walter  stood  up  beside  her;  raised  his  hand  in  depreca- 
tion.    "  Don't  say  that,  Lou  !     Don't  say  that  !  " 

"  It  is  the  land  of  my  fathers  and  yours  !  " 

"  I  have  no  land  but  Mississippi." 

She  drew  up  to  him,  laid  her  white  round  arm  across  his 
neck.     "  Only  poor  Mississippi,  Walter  ?  " 

"To  Mississippi,  and  Mississippi  alone,  do  I  owe  allegi- 
ance." 

Tears  gathered  into  the  beautiful  eyes  that  were  looking 
into  his.  They  rolled  down  her  fair  cheeks.  She  murmured 
in  low  broken  tones  : 

"  My  poor  husband,  I  fear  we  shall  have  sad  times  of  it." 

Then  she  laid  her  head  on  his  breast. 

Walter  passed  his  hand  over  her  tear-moistened  cheeks, 
then  over  her  flossy  hair. 

His  task  had  accumulated  difficulty. 

"I  do  not  think,"  he  said,  "there  is  cause  for  foreboding." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  raised  her  head,  smoothed  back  her  disor- 
dered tresses,  and  sat  on  the  piano-stool  from  which  her  hus- 
band had  risen. 

"  Let  us  not,"  she  answered,  "  deceive  ourselves,  Walter." 

"  In  what  respect,  Lou  ?  " 

"  That  there  is  no  cause  for  apprehension." 

"  I  do  not  see  any." 

"  Not  with  a  great  war  impendino-  ?  " 

Walter  laughed  lightly,  and  stroked  his  mustache  as  he 
replied: 

"  Ah,  Lou,  you  have  borrowed  the  girls'  habit  of  magnify- 
ing." 

"  It  is  preferable  to  the  over-confidence  in  strength  which 
underrates." 

"  Is  that  an  impeachment  ?  " 

"  Of  you  ?  oh,  no." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  application." 

"  I  refer  to  our  friends  in  the  South." 

"  Do  you  think  they  underestimate  ?" 


70  BRISTLING    WITH    THOEXS. 

"Greatly." 

"  The  strength  of  the  North  ?  " 
.    ''  Yes,  Walter." 

"  There  will  be  uo  real  trial  of  strength." 

"  There  you  underestimate  their  purpose." 

"  Our  leading  people  are  quite  confident  of  this.*' 

"  They  may  know.     But  1  cannot  believe  it." 

"  Nearly  one-half  of  the  North  is  with  us,  and  they  will  pre- 
vent the  extremists  from  making  war  upon  us." 

*'  Yes,  I  have  heard  there  are  such  people  in  the  North. 
But  have  we  no  Unionists  here  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  a  great  many  at  one  time;  a  few  even  yet." 

"  What  has  changed  them  ?  " 

"  Public   opinion,  Lou.     An    irresistible    public   opinion." 

"  And  do  you  think,  Walter,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  pub- 
lic sentiment  in  the  North  ?  " 

"  Surely  there  is." 

"  Do  you  not  imagine  it  will  have  the  same  effect  there 
that  it  does  here  ?" 

"  For  us  ?  " 

"  Against  the  South  and  this  attempted  secession  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  The  majority  of  the  Democratic  party  of  the 
North  is  with  us  irrevokably.  Our  leading  men  are  in  corre- 
spondence with  their  prominent  members  and  know  it." 

"  They  will  discover  their  mistake." 

"  I  am  confident  not.  They  have  declared  they  will  line 
the  Ohio  river  with  Democratic  bayonets  to  prevent  an  inva- 
sionof  the  South." 

"  They  are  strong  words.     But  I  think  I  have  heard  quite 
as  strong  here  on  the  other  side." 

"  Perhaps.  But  injustice  and  oppression  has  changed  all 
that." 

"  And  the  capture  of  Fort  Sumter  will  be  styled  an  op- 
pression and  injustice  Avhich  will  change  all  that  in  the  North." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  are  drawing  phantoms  from  your  fears. 
There  may  be  a  battle,  some  minor  affray  or  so  brought  on 
more  by  accident  tlian  design.  But  beyond  that  there  will  be 
nothing.     I  am  confident  of  it.     Secession  will  be  peaceable." 


71 

"  You  do  not  think  the  people  of  the  North  are  cowards  ?  " 

"No,  indeed." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  at  least." 

"  Why,  Lou  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  it  so  often  that — well,  I  did  not  know." 

"  I  never  harbored  that  idea  ;  I  know  there  are  brave  men 
there,  a  great  many  of  them  ;  but  the  mass,  the  uncultured 
multitude,  the  mechanics  and  laborers  and  petty  farmers — " 

"  Walter,  you  and  I  have  travelled  through  the  North. 
Did  we  anywhere  see  anything  like  the  low,  wretched,  idle 
creatures  we  meet  on  every  roadway  here  ?  " 

"I  do  notremember  that  we  did." 

"And  these  poor  creatures  form  a  considerable  part  of  our 
white  population." 

"  I  regret  to  think  tlmt  they  do." 

"  And  in  event  of  a  war  you  will  have  to  rely  on  them  to 
some  extent  ?  " 

"Yes,  Lou,  largely." 

"Why  do  you  think  they  will  make  better  material  for  an 
army  than  the  happy,  intelligent  looking  laborers  we  saw  in 
the  North." 

"I  do  not  know  that  they  will." 

"I  am  not  competent  to  judge,  Walter,  T  admit  that  ;  but 
it  does  appear  to  me  that  the  North  has  great  advantage  over 
us,  not  only  in  numbers,  but  in  the  charact^er  of  its  fighting- 
material.   I  believe  that  is  what  dear  old  Gen.  Ogle  vie  calls  it." 

"  The  numbers  they  undoubtedly  have,  Lou,  the  intelli- 
gence and  wealth  also,  but  they  are  a  sordid,  gain-loving  peo- 
ple, courageous  perhaps  when  in  a  fight,  but  preferring  peace, 
plenty,  and  sacrifice,  to  the  loss  and  hazard  of  battle." 

■ "  That  was  not  their  character  in  the  days  of  our  noble 
grandfathers." 

"I  do  not  mean  that  they  are  wanting  in  bravery" 

"I  hope  not,  Walter  ;  they  are  our  countrymen." 

"  Were  our  countrymen." 

"  Were  so,  and  are  so,  Walter." 

"I  will  not  dispute  with  you,  dear." 

"  Nor  I  with  you,  Walter  ;  if  I  have  done  so,  forgive  me." 


72  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Slie  looked  up  into  his  face  and  laid  both  of  her  hands  on 
his,  which  were  resting  on  the  piano. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  dear  ;  you  were  but  express- 
ing opinions." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  what  I  meant  was,  that  I  did  not  doubt  the  courage 
of  all  those  who  would  fight,  or  the  whole  of  them,  if  they 
were  drawn  into  a  war  ;  but  that  the  nainl)er  who  see  any 
cause  for  war  are  few,  and  the  multitude  prefer  peaceable 
secession  to  conflict." 

"  And  3'ou  think  they  have  no  love  of  country." 

"  Yes,  as  we  have — love  for  their  state." 

"I  think  you  misjudge  them  in  that.  They  care  less  for 
their  states  than  they  do  for  the  Union." 

"  Perhaps,  but  we  have  seceded,  and  the  Union  is  a  thing 
of  the  past." 

"  Yes,  if  they  permit  it  to  be  so." 

"  AVhich  they  will." 

"  Time  only  can  determine  that,  Walter." 

"  The  capture  of  Sumter  will  produce  an  intense  excite- 
ment throughout  the  South." 

"And  a  corresponding  excitement  in  the  North." 

"  Of  course,  but  it  will  not  take  shape  there.  It  will,  here. 
Tt  will  animate  our  people.  It  will  unite  the  entire  South, 
and  in  less  than  thirty  days  we  will  have  a  great  army  pre- 
pared for  any  emergency."  Walter  was  warily  approaching 
the  communication  he  had  to  make.  An  hundred  times  it  was 
on  the  point  of  his  tongue,  and  yet  he  hesitated. 

"If  there  is  to  be  no  war,  Walter,  why  an  army  ?  " 

"Show  of  force,  you  know,  is  sometimes  the  surest  conser- 
vator of  peace." 

"  And  do  you  believe,  Walter,  that  is  all  V  " 

"Perhaps  not, quite.  As  1  said,  I  think  there  may,  ]irobably 
will,  1)0  some  minor  fights  ;  possibly  one  great  battle  ;  but  it 
will  not,  cannot  be  i^rotracted." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  shook  her  head  doubtingly. 

"You  will  see,  Lou.  You  will  see  one  great  battle,  in 
which  we  will  be  victors  ;  then  our  Democratic  friends  in  the 


"  I    CANNOT    WISH    YOU    SUCCESS."  73 

* 

North  will  compel  a  truce  ;  compel  a  peace  ;  and  the  Southern 
Confederacy  will  be  a  recognized  power  on  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Trenhom's  fingers  ran  lightly  over  the 
keys  ;  without  knowing  it  the  notes  took  form  ;  it  was  but  a 
whisper,  but  a  breath,  scarcely  audible. 

Walter  Trenhom  heard  it,  heard  it  for  the  last  time  in  his 
own  old  home — a  stanza  of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner. 

His  wife  was  thinking  ;  thinking  deeply  ;  her  fingers  were 
moving  without  guidance  of  her  brain. 

When  she  paused  she  said  ; 

"  Walter,  you  are  aware  I  have  but  little  means  of  knowing 
the  temper  of  the  North  ;  perhaps  this  love  for  the  Union  of 
their  fathers  ma,y  be  dead  ;  they  may  underestimate  its 
value  ;  but  I  have  a  feeling  ;  I  cannot  account  for  it  ; 
perhaps  I  can  give  no  sufficient  reason  for  it  ;  but  it  is  a  be- 
lief that  has  grown  on  me  since  T  have  listened  to  you  ;  we 
have  seen  the  opening  of  one  of  the  most  dreadful  wars  of 
history." 

"  You  are  an  alarmist,  Lou." 

"I  think  not,  dear." 

"  I  cannot  believe  it." 

"I  feel  it, — protracted,  .desperate  and — "she  shuddered 
and  paused  as  a  vision  rose  up  before  her  of  the  sacrifice  of 
human  life  entailed  by  a  war  such  as  her  imagination  pictured. 

"  Then,"  said  Walter,  "  my  duty  is  clear."  If  war  was  to 
be  the  holiday  his  ardent  fancy  first  painted  it,  he  might  yet 
have  retired.  The  warm  love  of  his  wife  miglit  possibly  have 
chained  him  to  the  fragrant  groves  of  his  homestead.  But  if 
there  was  to  be  war,  fierce,  bloody,  deadly  war,  his  duty  to 
his  state  was  clear.  No  earthly  consideration  should  restrain 
him. 

Mrs.  Trenhom  heard  him. 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

"Your  duty,  Walter?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  dear,  my  duty  to  my  state  is  to  serve  her." 

His  wife  stood  in  front  of  him.  She  threw  her  white  arms 
about  his  neck.     Her  appealing  eyes  were  riveted  upon  hira. 


74  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"You  would  not  go  away  and  leave  me.' 

'•  Lou,  what  is  it  you  ask?" 

"  You  would  not  leave  me,  dear?" 

"  Would  vou  have  me  be  a  coward?" 


01 


1.  no 


»  " 


"  I  am  the  state's  son ;  my  sword  is  the  state's." 

''  In  such  a  cause?" 

"Lou!" 

"  In  such  a  cause!" 

"  No  matter  what  the  cause,  my  service  is  due  to  the 
state." 

"And  you  will  go?" 

"I  must!" 

The  fair  head  of  his  wife  lay  again  upon  his  breast,  his 
fingers  were  dallying  with  her  silken  locks;  one,  two,  three 
minutes  passed  in  profound  silence. 

Mrs.  Trenhom  raised  her  head.  She  withdrew  her  arras 
from  his  neck,  and  folded  her  hands  before  her. 

'•'Walter,"  she  said,  "if  yoii  are  determined  to  go  I  will 
not  embarrass  you  with  pleadings,  repinings  or  regrets." 

"  Thank  you,  dear;  you  are  a  good,  brave  girl." 

"  I  will  pray — pray  for  your  safety." 

"Dear  Lou!" 

"But,"  and  her  voice,  tremulous  with  emotion  before, 
grew  firm  and  clear,  "  I  cannot  wish  you  success." 

"  Lou!  Lou!"  cried  her  now  thoroughly  excited  husband, 
"do  you  know  what  you  say?" 

"Yes,  my  dearest  husband,  I  do." 

"And  you  wish  that  our  cause,  my  cause,  may  fail?" 

"  Walter,  dear,  dear  Walter!"  Her  clasped  hands  were 
raised  above  her  head.  Her  tearful  eyes  turned  heavenward, 
"  I  shall  pray  God  to  guard  and  shield  you  and — to  preserve 
the  dear  old  Union  of  our  fathers." 


CATASTROPHE    FROM    A    BISHOP's    BREAKFAST.  75 


CHAPTER   VII. 

CATASTROPHE    FROM    A    BISHOP'S    BREAKFAST. 

September  20,  1863,  the  second  day  of  Chickamauga,  was 
a  dark  day  for  the  Union.  The  rising  sun  was  bloodshot  and 
sullen.  The  morning  air  was  breathless  as  a  grave.  An  im- 
penetrable mist  lay  like  a  fleecy  mantle  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  valley,  which,  long  ago,  was  a  home  of  the  Cherokee,  and 
scene  of  a  fierce  conflict,  a  rout,  a  war-dance,  a  torturing  of 
captives. 

Then  the  Cherokees  christened  it  Cliickamauo^a,  which, 
translated,  is  "Valley  of  Death." 

September,  1863,  confirmed  it. 

The  previous  day  two  armies  beat  against  each  other  like 
angry  waves.  Hospitals  overflowed  into  the  forests.  The 
farm  houses  were  choked  with  mutilation.  The  Dyer  house 
had  shelter  and  beds.  A  surgeon  stood  at  the  door,  behind 
him  a  train  of  blanched  faces,  parched  lips  and  blood  clots. 

The  inmate  of  the  house,  a  woman,  confronted  them: 

"  What  yer.want?  " 

"Beds,  shelter,  comfort  for  the  wounded." 

"Fer  Yanks?" 

"  For  wounded  Union  soldiers." 

"  Durned  ef  eny  dad  fetched  hurted  Yanks  hes  'um." 

Then  the  loomcui  dragged  the  beds  into  the  yard  and 
burned  themJ^ 

Embruting  of  slavery. 

The  night  was  a  prolonged  moan,  troubled  with  hypothe- 
sis, with  devising,  with  generals  coining  plans,  with  the  crash 
of  falling  trees  for  the  morrow's  barricades,  and  men  chilled 
to  the  marrow,  hurrying  and  wondering.  Bragg  ordered 
Polk.     Polk  was  a  mitred  saber.     He  was  a  copy  of  Bishop 

*  A  fact. 


76  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

de  Beauvais,  without  his  dasli  and  crush.  "  Bepjin  the  battle 
early,  as  soon  as  there  is  light  to  see." 

That  was  Bragjr's  order.     This  command  was  imperative. 

The  early  hours  came.  Six — seven — eight — one  after  an- 
other sped  away. 

It  was  a  respite. 

Weary  men  were  grateful.  Rosecrans,  Thomas  and  Gar- 
field rejoiced.  Bragg  was  a  hurricane  of  wrath,  sputtering 
profanity. 

"Why  in don't  he  begin?" 

An  aid  is  the  distant  tongue  of  a  commander. 

The  tongue  inquired  of  the  mitred  saber.  The  fighting 
bishop  was  breakfasting  leisurely.  The  habits  of  the  gown 
survived  the  girting  of  the  sword.    Polk  answered  the  tongue: 

"  Do  tell  Gen.  Bragg  that  my  heart  is  overflowing  with 
anxiety  for  the  attack;  overflowing  with  anxiety,  sir."  His 
soft  white  hands  emphasized  his  eagerness;  the  continued 
clatter  of  dishes  testified  to  it,  and  the  attack  halted  for  grace. 
Bragg  cursed  all  bisliops. 

But  the  bishop's  breakfast  routed  Rosecrans. 

Twelve  days  before,  Bragg  lay  by  the  rugged  and  pre- 
cipitous edge  of  Cameron  Hill,  crowned  with  the  menace  of  a 
single  huge  gun.  Tlie  silvery  Tennessee  at  his  feet  wound 
its  way  under  the  shadow  of  lofty  hills  carpeted  w^ith  lichens 
and  moss. 

In  his  front  mountains  rolled  away,  fold  over  fold,  until 
their  pine-capped  summits  touched  the  clouds.  This 
was  Chattanooga  —  which  is  Cherokee  for  "hawk's  nest." 
In  this  eyrie  Bragg  felt  secure.  He  paraded  his  uniformed 
multitudes.  He  saluted  the  morning  sun  with  drum  beat 
and  bugle  l)last.  He  thundered  his  deiiance  at  tiie  army 
of  the  Cumberland  far  away  beyond  the  mountains.  On  the 
20th  of  August  there  were  strange  rumblings  among  the 
Northern  hills.  The  21st  unraveled  it.  Far  up  on  the  moun- 
tain side  strange  forms  grew  out  of  the  dawn.  There  was 
a  little  cloud  of  smoke  ;  a  crashing  reverberation  ;  a  splash  in 
the  river.  It  was  a  shell  thrown  from  a  Union  battery.  Bragg 
looked,  wondered  and  hurled  lusty  imprecations  p-t  the  hills. 


CATASTROPHE    FROM    A    BISHOP's    BREAKFAST.  77 

The  Confederate  multitude  looked  and  cried,  "  Yanks,  be 
Gawl  !  "  A  brigade  of  blues  had  indeed  scaled  the  mountains. 
A  few  days  later  a  scout  came  to  Bragg  and  reported.  Yanks 
crossing  the  river  below  at  Caperton's  ;  other  scouts  fol- 
lowed— 

"  Yanks  crossing  at  Battle  Creek  and  Shell  Mound  ; " 
still  others  came  reporting, 

"  Feds  crossing  above." 

Chattanooga  is  a  trap. 

Its  back  door  is  tlie  "  valley  of  death." 

When  Rosecrans  rushed  at  the  door  Bragg  sped  away. 

Tullahoma  was  repeated. 

The  victors  of  Stone  River  were  drunken  with  easy  success 
and  their  commander  was  not  an  eagle. 

Bragg  fled,  Rosecrans  followed,  stirruped  in  cheap  tri- 
umph, a  saddle  of  disaster. 

Bragg's  army  was  a  ball  rolling  in  snow. 

The  Union  army  was  a  snow  ball  rolling  on  the  warm  earth. 
The  one  grew  as  it  retired. 

The  other  lost  fragments  with  every  advance. 

Bragg's  lost  opportunity  was  September  13th  and  14th. 
The  Union  army  w^as  then  spread  out  like  a  colossal  dislo- 
cated crab.  Thomas  was  the  body,  McCook  was  the  right 
claw,  four  days'  march  southwest  beyond  rugged  and  tedi- 
ous mountains.  Crittenden  was  the  left  claw,  equally  far 
away  to  the  east,  separated  from  the  main  body  by  the  sluggish, 
rocky-jawed  Chickamauga.  The  victor  of  Montenotte  would 
have  crushed  the  left  claw,  then  whirled  and  pulverized  "  the 
rock  of  Chickamauga,"  while  the  right  claw  was  writhing  upon 
the  mountain  tops. 

Bragg  was  superior  to  either  the  body  or  claws.  His  supe- 
riority was  overwhelming.  Bragg  needed  bounce  and  velocity. 
He  should  have  been  a  whirlwind. 

He  was  a  snail. 

He  halted,  wriggled  and  crawled,  until  the  southern 
mountains  were  scaled,  the  eastern  river  crossed  and  the 
claws  were  gathered  into  the  bod3\ 

The  army  of  the  Cumberland  was  intact. 


78  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

It  was  Bragir's  leaden  heels  that  preserved  it. 

Dawdlinjr  was  its  salvation.  Behind  dawdlinp^  was  Infinite 
purpose.  On  Sunday  morning,  the  20th  inst.,  Bragg  was  west 
of  the  Chickamauga.  Rosecrans  had  been  pushed  away  from 
the  river  That  was  the  result  of  the  fierce  battle  of  the  day 
before,  and  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  hills  across  the  road 
to  Chattanooga,  behind  him  Mission  Ridge  and  Lookout 
Mountain,  a  vast  palisade  of  rocks.  The  Chattanooga  road 
was  his  line  of  retreat.  To  lose  it  was  destruction.  The  sun 
of  the  19th  looked  down  on  the  moans  of  the  suffering  ;  on 
the  pravers  of  the  dying  ;  looked  sadly  down  on  the  shattered 
wreck  that  lay  in  the  valley;  then  dropped  slowly  behind  the 
western  curtain  of  hills.  Darkness  followed.  Across  the 
Chickamauga  the  camp  fires  of  the  Confederates  flared  out 
upon  the  chill  night.  Then  a  tumult  of  cheers  rioted  upon 
the  calm  air.  It  disturbed  Rosecrans.  It  thrilled  the  wake- 
ful army  among  the  hills.  It  was  a  riddle  ;  Rosecrans  tried 
his  teeth  on  the  nut,  but  failed  to  crack  it.  The  cause  of  the 
cheers  continued  a  mystery.  A  new  problem  had  come  into 
the  fiffht — the  unknown.     And  the  unknown  decides  battles. 

This  was  the  riddle.  Longstreet,  lion  of  the  Potomac,  had 
joined  Bragg,  and  with  him  a  picked  corps  of  trained  fighters 
from  the  army  of  Virginia. 

On  the  morrow  they  would  untwist  the  night  riddle  of 
cheers  with  a  deadly  unraveling. 

The  Confederates  were  jubilant,  and  they  were  confident  ; 
they  were  eager  for  the  morrow,  and  when  the  morrow  came, 
eager  for  the  first  notes  of  the  tempest  ;  and  Bragg  raved 
and  rapped  out  his  oaths  until  nearly  half-past  eight,  when  the 
bishop's  chops  were  wiped  and  his  napkin  folded. 

Then  the  advance  sounded. 

Far  up  on  the  left  of  the  Union  line  toward  Chattanooga, 
the  turbid  air  of  the  valley  was  full  of  motion. 

Far  over  beyond  the  Chickamauga,  Pigeon  Mountain  stood 
up  above  the  mist,  an  island  in  a  limitless  sea. 

The  leafless  tops  of  the  sapless  trees  stood  up  stern,  sullen 
and  ghostly  above  the  fog. 

Dim  forms  clad  in  gray  grew  out  of  the  ghastly  "  deadning." 


CATASTROPHE    FROM    A    BISHOP's    BREAKFAST.  79 

A  little  spark  flamed  up  in  the  haze  and  died  out. 

An  instant  later  there  was  a  sharp  report. 

It  was  the  first  muttering  of  the  storm. 

Another  and  another  flash. 

Then  flame  followed  flame. 

The  zio;zao;  edo^e  of  the  forest  was  illuminated. 

The  fury  of  the  tempest  grew. 

A  sirocco  smote  the  valley,  belching  upon  the  hills,  and 
open  fields,  and  forests  a  pitiless  storm  of  lead. 

It  was  a  torturing  showering  ;  a  remorseless  pelting. 

That  is  war  as  the  rifle  has  made  it. 

Before  gunpowder,  a  battle  was  a  collision  of  human 
masses. 

An  army  was  a  snow-ball  hurled  against  a  wall,  crushed 
and  dispersed  into  atoms  ;  or  it  was  an  avalanche  overwhelm- 
ing its  adversary.  War  was  a  trial  of  thews  and  sinews  and 
lustihood.  It  was  a  horrible  writhing  of  limbs.  A  gigantic 
wrestle,  breast  to  breast.  A  crunchino-  of  skulls  and  stabbinor 
of  bodies.  The  hot  breath  of  the  destroyed  burning  the  nos- 
trils of  the  destroyer. 

The  sturdy  crushed  the  weak. 

The  rifle  dispersed  the  wrestle.  It  flung  a  gulf  between 
armies,  and  equalized  the  dwarf  and  the  giant.  It  revised 
the  tactics  of  war.  It  spun  the  mass  into  threads,  breathing 
smoke  and  flame  from  their  sides.  '  Chickamauga  was  war  as 
the  rifle  made  it  ;  two  hostile  storm  clouds  prolonged  ;  drawn 
out  in  fine  lines  ;  flashing  lightning  and  hurling  thunderbolts 
from  their  edges. 

Cleburne  and  Breckenridge  were  Polk's  right  arm.  They 
were  a  sturdy,  truculent,  pugnacious  arm  for  a  bishop.  The 
arm  reached  out  to  clutch  the  Chattanooga  road  ;  to  build  a 
wall  of  fire  across  it.  The  wall  built  and  maintained,  Rose- 
crans  must  surrender  or  be  lost  in  the  mountains.  Hence  the 
struggle  for  the  road  and  the  wall.  Another  object.  Fasten 
a  rope  at  each  end  ;  press  against  its  center  and  it  resists. 
Unfasten  one  end  and  press  against  it  with  little  force  it  coils 
back  upon  itself.     The  unprotected  flank  of  an  army  is  the 


W  '  liliisTUNG     Wlill    TliOJiN.S.      . 

unfastened  end  of  a  rope.  Turned  and  pressed  it  curls  back. 
Pressed  in  force  it  crumbles  and  dissolves. 

The  arm  that  reached  out  for  the  road  also  reached  out  for 
the  end  of  tiie  Union  thread  ;  to  swing  round  it  ;  to  press 
against  it ;  to  curl  it  up  ;  to  disorganize  and  crush  it.  Beatty 
was  the  end  of  the  thread.  The  arm  reached  through  the 
canopy  of  smoke  ;  through  the  forest ;  across  the  plowed 
fields.  Its  track  was  luminous  with  lightning  flashes.  Its 
footsteps  were  preceded  by  a  fateful  sleet  of  lead.  It  was  a 
horrible  battering.  A  murderous  buffeting.  Beatty  shrank 
from  the  storm.  His  brigade  recoiled.  The  grays  were  jubi- 
lant. The  battering  and  buffeting  intensified.  The  eager 
arm  felt  the  road  and  the  end  of  the  thread  in  its  clutch. 
Then  from  the  Union  line  there  leaped  a  flame  and  a  heat 
beyond  mortal  endurance.  It  scorched  ;  it  withered  ;  it 
melted  ;  it  extirpated  ;  it  consumed.  In  dismay  and  agony 
the  Confederates  fled  before  the  blast.  The  valley  was  full  of 
smoke  and  flame. 

Full  of  daring  and  madness  ;  full  of  anguish  and  death. 

But  the  road  and  the  end  of  the  thread  were  safe. 

Then  came  the  catastrophe. 

The  thread  snapped  asunder  in  the  center. 


KOCK    OF    CHICKAMAUGA."  81 


CHAPTER  VIIT. 


EOCK    OF    CHICKAMAUGA. 


An  army  in  line  of  battle  is  a  dyke  of  arms  and  eyes  and 
alertness. 

The  adversary  is  a  flood,  mousing  for  holes,  probing  for 
loose  joints,  thumping  the  line  first  here,  then  there,  to  find 
the  weak  spot. 

The  object  of  the  dyke  is  resistance. 

For  this  every  fragment  must  maintain  its  position  ;  every 
section  must  joint  with  its  neighbor. 

A  gap  is  the  opportunity  of  the  flood. 

To  find  this  it  lashes,  and  probes,  and  pounds. 

From  half-past  eight  until  one  the  flood  pummeled  and 
bufi'eted  the  dyke  in  vain. 

It  had  no  weakness. 

It  beat  against  it  in  wrath  only  to  be  hurled  back  in  foam. 
Then,  mystery  of  war,  accident  furnished  what  attrition  and 
angry  surging  failed  to  create. 

Wood  was  a  rock  in  the  dyke,  cemented  in  between 
Brannan  on  his  left  and  Davis  on  his  right. 

A  horse  advanced  in  mad  gallop.  His  sides  flecked  with 
sweat  ;  his  eyes  and  nostrils  dilated. 

He  paused  beside  Wood. 

"  Orders  from  Rosecrans." 

They  were  torn  open. 

"  Close  up  on  Gen.  Reynolds  as  fast  as  possible,  and  sup- 
port him." 

Place  four  strips  of  paper  before  you  in  a  line.  The  piece 
on  your  left  hand  is  Reynolds  ;  the  next  Brannan  ;  next 
Wood  ;  then  Davis  on  the  right.  Imagine  each  piece  of 
paper  from  an  eighth  to  a  quarter  mile  long.     This  was  the 


82  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

position.     There    are    other  pieces  to  tlie  rii^ht    and    left   of 
tliose,  but  that  is  tlie  position  of  the  center. 

Wood  was  amazed.  He  turned  to  McCook  :  "  Good 
heavens,  Mac,  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

McCook  looked. 

"Orders  positive." 

"But  singular.     See  it  is  written  by  Rosecrans  in  person." 

McCook  looked  again.    "  So  it  is  !    Can  Garfield  be  dead  ?  " 

"  Heaven  grant  not  ;  but  he  never  would  have  written 
this  order." 

"  He  wrote  every  order  to-day  but  this."* 

"  Good  heaven,  if  he  were  only  with  Rosecrans  now  !  But 
what  must  I  do  ?  " 

"  Obey  !  There  is  nothing  else  for  it.  Be  quick  ;  and 
I'll  fill  up  the  gap  with  Davis." 

It  was  a  broad  interval.  A  gap  for  the  surging  flood.  If 
it  could  be  filled  by  Davis,  well.  If  the  advancing  tide  struck 
it  before  Davis  filled  it,  then  disaster. 

A  crisis  is  the  higher  law  of  battle,  it  invites  responsibility  ; 
it  condones  and  rewards  assumption. 

.    But  Wood  was  not  a  man  to  assume,  or  invite  responsi- 
bility. 

He  was  merely  an  arm — Rosecrans  its  motive  nerve. 

He  obeyed. 

He  whirled  about  to  retire  behind  Brannan. 

The  dyke  was  broken. 

Col.  Walter  Trenhom  was  down  before  it.  He  was  cap- 
tain of  the  company  in  which  Joe  Ratley  enlisted. 

Since  the  day  of  home-parting,  when,  with  his  company, 
he  disappeared  in  the  cloud  of  dust,  he  had  realized  what  was 
meant  with  secession  on  one  side  and  love  for  the  Union  on 
the  other. 

At  first  Bull  Run  he  gave  his  earliest  command  to  fire  atl 
the  old  flag. 

Since  then  he  had  participated  in  the  triumph  or  disasterJ 

*Afact.  Gen.  James  A.  Garfield.  Ro.secrans'  chief  of  staff,  wrote  every  order  on  that] 
day  except  the  fatal  order  which  lost  the  battle. 


83 

of  many  a  field  of  horror,  and  he  had  won  the  command  of  his 
regiment  by  superlative  bravery. 

Now  he  was  over  against  Rosecrans. 

Three  times  he  had  dashed  against  the  dyke  further  up, 
and  three  times  he  had  been  pressed  back  foot  by  foot  into 
the  edge  of  the  forest. 

Foiled  but  not  disheartened,  he  edged  away  further  to  the 
right  of  the  Union  line. 

He  stood  over  against  Wood's  front. 

To  the  right  and  left  of  him  Hood's  other  legions. 

Col.  Trenhom  was  already  adyancing. 

But  for  the  bishop's  breakfast  his  advance  would  have  been 
two  hours  earlier. 

Slowly,  steadily  forward. 

His  vigilant  eyes  witnessed  Wood's  movement. 

"  It  is  retreat !  Double-quick  !     March  !  " 

There  was  a  tremendous  shout. 

Hood's  other  regiments  caught  it  up. 

It  was  a  roar. 

A  thunder  of  exultation. 

Davis  attempted  to  spread  his  thin  line  over  the  gap. 

It  was  flino-ino^  handfuls  of  snow  into  a  furnace. 

Hood  came  on  with  a  rush. 

He  was  a  flood,  crested  with  flame,  Trenhom  its  consum- 
ing point. 

He  struck  Wood  retiring  ;  struck  Davis's  thin  line  ;  caught 
it  up  like  sand  in  the  surf  and  beat  it  down  with  a  deadh 
thud. 

Polk's  breakfast  conjoined  the  gap  and  the  attack. 

Accident  of  war. 

The  torrent  burst  through  the  interval  ;  overflowed  be- 
yond ;  turned  southward  on  the  end  of  Davis's  line,  and  rolled 
it  back  like  a  thread. 

A  few  brave  men  stood  ;  the  maddened  torrent  gulped 
them  down. 

The  many  were  dismayed  ;  they  dropped  their  arms  ;  flung 
away  knapsacks  ;  unbuckled  their  cartridge  boxes. 

They  were  panic  stricken. 


84  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

They  ran. 

The  torrent  pursued  ;  vomiting  fire  and  whizzing  rifle 
balls. 

A  panic  is  an  enigma. 

A  i^anic  is  a  furnace — melting  armies  in  its  fervid  heat. 

The  panic  infected  the  entire  right  wing  of  the  Union  army. 

A  few  daring  men  hurled  patriotism,  entreaties  and  impre- 
cations at  the  rushing  crowd.  They  were  deaf  to  everything 
but  the  roaring  torrent. 

They  groped  in  the  darkness  of  despair  and  rushed  on. 

System  was  unclinched. 

Divisions  dropped  asunder. 

Regiments  dislocated. 

Companies  atomized. 

One-half  the  army  was  torn  to  tatters. 

Unharnessed  from  command  the  incoherent  and  disheveled 
mass  fled.     A  hatless  officer  dashed  up  from  the  rear. 

"Why  do  you  run  ?  " 

The  flying  soldier  turned  his  head  over  his  shoulder  and 
shouted,  "  Busted,"  and  ran  on. 

A  group  rushed  by. 

'•Halt!" 

"  You  be !  " 

The  hatless  man  hailed  another. 

The  face  was  streaked  with  powder,  smoke  and  dust  and 
laced  with  perspiration. 

"  What  regiment  ?  " 

"  Twenty-second  '  Indiana.'  " 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Smashed  !  " 

"  In  the  fight  ?  " 

"  You  bet !  " 

«  Hot  ?  " 

''  Boiling." 

"  Where's  the  others  ?  " 

'*  There's  one  !  "     Then  he  rushed  on. 

The  hatless  man  looked  where  the  soldier  pointed  and  saw 
a  boy,  his  right  leg  roughly  bandaged  ;  black  clots  of  blood 


"rock  of  chickamauga."  85 

dropped  from  his  knee.  The  boy  was  tremulous  with  agony. 
His  face  was  blanched  with  despair.  He  stumbled,  fell,  rose, 
staggered,  fell  again,  rose  and  staggered  on. 

The  stream  intensified. 

Men,  mules,  horses,  wagons,  caissons  rolled,  tumbled,  ran, 
crowding,  jostling,  surging,  screaming,  cursing. 

Inexplicable  chaos  of  wreck. 

Rosecrans  and  Garfield,  his  chief  of  staiF,  hurrying  to 
check  the  route  were  caught  up'  in  the  mad  current  and 
whirled  under  its  resistless  impulse  back  through  the  gap  that 
lies  west  and  nortli  of  Mission  Ridge. 

The  torrent  paused  from  pursuit  ;  turned  and  dashed  upon 
the  "  Rock  of  Chickamauga." 

Col.  Trenhom  looked  about  him  ;  looked  on  the  wreck  be- 
hind him. 

It  was  he  who  led  the  rush  upon  Thomas. 

He  was  hat! ess,  and — warm  blood  ran  down  upon  his  bridle 
rein. 

Where  Davis  had  stood  the  earth  groaned  under  the  cin- 
ders of  war. 

These  were  the  cinders  : 

A  dissevered  hand  with  twitching  fingers. 

An  arm — fair,  round  and  white. 

A  leg,  torn  and  mutilated. 

A  shred  of  flesh  with  a  human  eye  glaring  fiercely  out 
of  it. 

Monstrosities  of  disfigurement  and  mutilation. 

There  a  boy,  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  a  little  red  spot  on  his 
forehead. 

There  a  form  ;  a  grand  head  upon  it.  The  lower  jaw  torn 
away. 

Horrible  grimacing. 

There  another  ;  his  hands  clenched  ;  his  legs  drawn  up  ; 
a  murderous  light  yet  in  his  dead  eye,  and  a  writhing  of  agony 
on  his  set  jaws. 

A  Confederate  officer  sat  up,  tightening  a  handkerchief 
about  his  lacerated  thigh. 

A  few  feet  away  was  a  Union  soldier. 


86  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

He  moved. 

He  turned. 

Then  he,  too,  sat  up  and  placed  his  hands  upon  his  head. 

He  lay  there  when  the  Confederate  officer  fell. 

He  lay  calm  and  stiff,  apparently  dead. 

As  he  moved  the  Confederate  spoke  : 

"Ah,  alive  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  God  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  done  for." 

"  Was  I  so  bad  as  that  ?     Is  there  blood  upon  me  ?  " 

'*  I  don't  see  any." 

"  I  don't  feel  any  wound,  only  a  great  pain  in  the  head." 

"A  cannon  ball." 

"It  would  have  killed  me." 

"Yes,  if  it  hit." 

"  How  else  could  it  do  ?  " 

"  Concussion  of  air,  or  grazed  the  scalp." 

"Ah  !  " — looking  about  him — "  but  where  is  the  army  ?" 

"Skedaddled!" 

"  Which  ?  " 

"  Yours." 

"  Good  heavens  !     And  I  ?" 

"  A  prisoner,  unless  yOu  git." 

Then  the  Confederate  slowly  fell  back  upon  the  earth. 

The  blue  (sympathetically) — "  Are  you  hurt  bad  ?" 

The  gray  (feebly)— "Yes." 

The  blue  (anxiously) — "  Can  I  help  you  ?  " 

The  gray  (generously)  —  '*  Yes  ;  but  you'd  beet  hurry 
away  while  you  can." 

The  blue  (devotedly) — "  I'll  take  my  chances,  old  fellow  ; 
but  I'll  help  you  first." 

I'he  gray — "That's  chivalrous." 

"Christen  it  what  you  like,  only  tell  me  wliat  I  can  do  ?" 

"  Tighten  the  handkerchief  about  my  thigh." 

"I  see.     You  are  bleeding." 

"  Yes  !  " 

The  blue — Tightening  the  handkerchief  and  stopping  the 


"  ROCK    OF    CHICKAMAUGA."  87 

flow    of  blood.     "  Poor    fellow,  you  have  lost    a  great    deal. 
There,  I  o-uess  it's  all  rio-ht  now." 

"  Thank  you  ;  you  are  kind." 

"  I'll  watch  it  awhile." 

'•  I  am  looking  on  you." 

«  Yes." 

"  Turn  your  face  to  me." 

The  blue— Turning  his  face,  "  There  !  " 

The  gray—"  xVh  !  " 

The  blue—"  Well  ?  " 

The  gray — "  You  were  at  Stone  River  ?  " 

The  blue—"  Yes." 

The  gray — "  I  thought  so." 

The  blue—"  Why  ?  " 

The  gray — "  You  saved  my  life  there." 

The  blue—"  I  !  " 

The  gray — "  Yes.  In  the  rush  I  fell.  I  was  down  ;  a 
brute  stood  over  me  with  musket  clubbed.  You  turned  it 
aside.  But  for  you  he  -would  have  murdered  me.  In  the 
charge  and  melee  that  followed  I  escaped." 

The  blue — "  Oh,  I  remember  now,  that  was  Jim  Site  with 
the  musket.     A  good  fellow,  too." 

The  gray — "  A  fiend,  if  I  ever  saw  one." 

The  blue — "  Oh,  no  !  He  was  battle  mad.  Out  of  a  fight 
Jim's  as  tender  and  gentle  as  a  woman." 

The  gray — "What  is  your  name  ?" 

The  blue — "  Halmer  Huntley.     And  yours  ?  " 

"  Dale  Cartier." 

Huntley — "  A  major  ?  " 

Cartier — "  Yes  ;  with  a  chance  to  advance  a  grade  if  I  sur- 
vive. My  lieutenant  colonel  lies  over  there :  done  for,  I  fear, 
poor  fellow." 

Huntley—"  On  the  hill  ?  " 

Cartier— "No;  off  there  in  the  valley.  Your  fellows  did 
terrible  execution  three  hundred  to  five  hundred  yards  away." 

There  was  a  roar  from  Mission  Ridge. 
.    Cartier—"  That's  victory—  " 

Huntley — "  Running —  " 


88  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Cartier— "  Who  ?  " 

Huntley — "  Johnnies  !     Johnnies  !  " 

When  the  ris^ht  wins:  was  crushed,  Thomas  coiled  the  left 
wing  about  the  lower  spur  of  Mission  Ridge.  With  one-half 
the  Union  army  swept  from  the  field,  Bragg  and  Polk  and 
Lonjjstreet  were  confident. 

It  seemed  but  a  question  of  moments.  Successful  resist- 
ance was  impossible.  They  would  destroy  and  capture  the 
fragment  that  was  unrouted.  There  were  but  five  divisions 
in  line  against  the  whole  rebel  army  inspired  by  success, 
strengthened  and  inflamed  by  a  taste  of  victory.  After  the 
rout  of  the  right  wing  there  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the 
storm.  Thomas  was  in  sore  peril,  but  needed  aid  was  hurry- 
ing down  from  the  left.  When  Garfield  was  driven  back 
through  the  western  gap  to  Rossville  with  his  commander 
Rosecrans  and  the  routed  right  wing,  Rosecrans  was  hopeless 
and  pushed  on  to  Chattanooga.  But  Garfield  paused.  The 
roar  of  Thomas's  guns  filled  him  with  hope.  He  halted.  He 
gave  orders  to  organize  the  disheveled  masses.  Then  he 
dashed  down  the  Rossville  road  toward  the  dust  cloud,  the 
flame  and  the  roar. 

He  met  halting  troops.     "  Forward  to  Thomas  !  " 

The  thunder  of  a  battery  assailed  him. 

"  Forward  to  Thomas  !  " 

The  horse  of  his  aid  riding  by  his  side  sprang  into  the  air  : 
struck  on  its  feet  ;  stumbled  ;  plunged  forward  ;  fell.  It 
attempted  to  struggle  to  its  feet,  and  with  a  horrible  scream 
fell  again  prone  on  the  earth. 

AVith  violent  efi'ort  it  raised  its  head  and  turned  its  dilated 
eyes  to  its  side.  A  shell  had  struck  it  and  torn  open  its 
stomach  ;  its  entrails  were  protruding  on  the  ground.  Slowly 
the  neck  fell  back  to  the  earth  ;  became  rigid  ;  its  mouth 
opened  ;  its  lips  were  drawn  up,  and  the  sun  shone  down  on 
its  white  gleaming  teeth. 

Garfield  dashed  on.    "  Forward  to  Thomas." 

The  roar  grew  louder.  Forward,  through  smoke  and  the 
flame.  Forward  under  the  pelting  of  lead.  Forward  under 
crash  of  falling  limbs.     Before  tliree  in  the  afternoon  he  was 


THE  SHELL  ROSE   UP  IN  THE  AIR. 


"  ROCK    OF    CHICKAMAUGA."  91 

beside  Gordon  Granger.  He  had  made  a  circuit  of  the  moun- 
tain. He  was  forward  with  Thomas  ;  he  stood  in  the  jaw  of 
the  furnace  ;  and  with  him  were  heroic  souls  to  gladden  and 
strengthen  the  "  rock  of  Chickamauga." 

Where  the  fight  raged  hottest,  where  the  smoke  was  deep- 
est, where  the  roar  was  loudest  ;  in  the  face  of  the  blindino; 
leaden  sleet,  under  the  consuming  rain  of  death  ;  in  the  parch- 
ing nostrils  of  the  battle  storm  he  was  there,  "  animating  and 
cheering  both  officers  and  men."* 

The  lull  was  ended. 

The  storm  had  gathered  power  for  a  final  blow. 

A  dark  cloud  rose  above  the  trees  on  the  left.  Glittering 
with  banners  and  arms  flashing  back  the  sunlight,  shouting, 
volleying,  thundering,  the  gray  passion-crested  wave,  with 
impetuous  fury,  rolled  out  from  the  screening  forests  and 
dashed  upon  Thomas. 

The  advancing  tide  was  a  flame. 

The  five  heroic  divisions  and  their  reinforcements  were  a 
furnace.  The  blue  was  a  wall  of  explosion  and  detonation, 
loading  the  air  with  whiz  and  scream. 

A  shell  flew  over  the  advancing  Confederates  ;  struck  the 
hillside  ;  rolled  to  within  a  foot  of  Major  Cartier  and  paused. 

A  fine  thread  of  blue  smoke  issued  from  its  nostril. 

Cartier  was  weak  and  powerless. 

He  was  unable  to  run  or  move  from  certain  death. 

"  Adieu,  hope  and  home," 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Huntley  leaped  to  his  side  ;  stooped  ;  lifted  the  shell  ; 
swung  his  arms  ;  the  shell  rose  up  in  the  air  ;  curved  down- 
ward ;  struck  the  earth  thirty  feet  away  and  exploded. 

Cartier  uncovered  his  eyes  and  looked. 

The  shell  was  gone.     "  And  you  did  it,"  he  said. 

Huntley—"  Yes  !  " 

Cartier—"  Noble  fellow  !  " 

Huntley — "  I  am  sure — Ah —  " 

The  echo  of  a  volley  reached  the  ears  of  Major  Cartier. 

♦Report  of  Gen.  Granger  on  Gen.  James  A.  Garfield's  heroic  conduct  at  the  battle 
of  Chickamauga. 


92  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Sergeant  Huntley  threw  up  his  arms.  What  he  would 
have  said  was  never  completed.  He  fell  forward  on  his 
face. 

Red  froth  oozed  from  his  mouth. 

A  stream  of  blood  ran  from  his  breast. 

And  over  against  the  foot  of  Mission  Ridge  the  storm 
beat  on.  Back  from  the  barricades,  close  behind  the  uni- 
formed divisions,  an  old  man  stood,  -shelterless,  coatless 
and  barefooted,  his  long  silvery  locks  streaming  over  his 
shoulder. 

His  "butternut"  pantaloons  contrasted  oddly  with  the 
blue  uniforms  about  him. 

An  idle  spectator  ?  No  !  He  held  an  old-fashioned  hunt- 
ing rifle  in  his  nervous  grasp,  and  he  loaded  and  fired  down 
into  the  valley  with  rapidity. 

A  soldier  noticed  him. 

'*  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Gittin'  a  bead  on  secesh." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Ovah  yandah."  Pointing  over  his  shoulder  to  the  moun- 
tains.    "  Can  see  four  states  from  thar." 

"Lookout?" 

"  Eggzackly." 

"  Among  the  crags  ?  " 

"  Top  ov  'um." 

"  A  Southren  ?  " 

"  Yas." 

"And  not  a  rebel  ?" 

"  Nary."     (Crack  went  the  rifle.)     *'  Nary  !  " 

"  You're  old  for  this  work." 

"  Sixteen  days  arter  Tennessee  kem  into  ther  Union  I  kem 
into  the  world  to  see  arter  'er — and  holp  keep  'er  thar." 

'*  You're  a  good  'un." 

"  Dooty,  boy,  dooty.  Fust  chance  to  hit  a  lick  fer  the  ole 
Union  sence  the  Mexican  wah." 

Crack  again  went  the  rifle. 

"  Do  the  rebs  bother  you  ?" 


"  KOCK    OF    CHICKAMAUGA."  93 

"  Eggzackly.     They've  bin  fer  ole  Fostah — thet's  me." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  gin  one  a  clamp,  an'  a  boss  pistol  with  a  buck  load  got 
tother.     They'd  barked  up  the  wrong  gum  tree." 

"  Did  they  come  again  ?" 

"  They  foun'  'tain't  healthy  up  thar." 

Throuorh  the  lono^  afternoon  the  "  old  man  of  the  moun- 
tain  "*  hurled  his  messengers  of  death.  "  Thet's  fer  Tennes- 
see," "  Thet's  fer  Gineral  Jackson,"  "  Thet's  fer  the  Union." 
And  in  front  of  him,  from  noon  till  night,  the  frenzied  tor- 
rent beat  against  the  "rock  of  Chickamauga  ;  "  roared  and 
lashed,  and  was  hurled  back  in  spray. 

Day  disappeared. 

To  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  the  setting  of  the  sun 
was  an  inexpressible  relief.     It  was  an  uprising  of  hope. 

The  cold  night  air  chilled  weary  fingers. 

But  cold  night  air  is  a  pump. 

It  sucks  the  warm  earth. 

Draws  streams  from  its  fountains. 

Each  stream  an  invisible  thread. 

The  threads  put  together  in  numberless  multitude  are  im- 
penetrable mist. 

The  pump  worked. 

The  warm  earth  yielded. 

The  broad  valley  became  a  gray  wrinkled  sea. 

Darkness,  mist  and  repulsion  laid  their  hand  upon  the  tur- 
bulent waves. 

Sullenly  they  receded  back  toward  the  river. 

The  storm  subsided. 

The  brown  and  crimson  autumn  leaves  dropped  silently 
down  on  the  white  upturned  faces  below. 

A  woman  came  out  from  under  the  trees. 

She  bent  down. 

She  looked  into  a  blanched  face. 

She  shuddered  and  passed  on. 

She  looked  again. 

*  Called  so  by  Sherman  and  Hooker  afterwards. 


94  liKlMl.I-N".     WllH    TilUii.N.N. 

The  eyes  and  nose  were  torn  from  the  face  she  looked  into. 
The  revolting  cavern  yawned  upon  her.  She  cried  out; 
pressed  her  clasped  hands  before  her  eyes,  and  walked  on 
through  the  fog  in  the  valley  to  the  hillside.  Face  after  face 
she  bent  over,  searching  them  eagerly.  Behind  her  was  a  trail 
of  death,  of  suffering  and  one  word.  "  w-a-t-e-r." 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  95 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD. 

Three  years  previous  to  the  war  there  was  genuine  mourn- 
ing on  the  estate  of  Gen.  Chartrass.  The  general  lay  in  the 
broad  parlor  of  his  great  mansion.  The  colored  servants, 
with  tears  of  genuine  sorrow  rolling  down  their  dusky  faces, 
entered  the  wide  hall  with  noiseless  tread,  passed  through  the 
parlor  doors,  looked  down  upon  the  white  peaceful  face, 
sobbed  and  passed  out  again.  Gen.  Chartrass  had  been  an 
officer  of  the  old  army.  On  the  death  of  his  only  brother  he 
resigned  ;  returned  to  his  ancient  estate  in  Mississippi  and 
remained  there  until  the  Mexican  war  drew  him  to  the  field,  to 
share  the  hardships,  perils  and  glories  of  his  old  comrades. 
After  the  war  he  went  abroad,  making  but  rare  and  brief  visits 
to  his  plantation,  until  his  final  return  five  years  before.  His 
absence  had  been  regretted.  His  return  was  welcomed.  He 
was  the  richest  planter  in  the  State,  connected  with  its  first 
families  and  a  bachelor.  With  all  that  he  was  kind-heai-ted, 
educated,  polished  by  long  commingling  with  polite  society, 
and  generous.  He  told  a  good  story,  knew  how  to  listen  to 
and  be  amused  by  a  dull  one,  and  his  house  was  continually 
full  of  all  the  best  fellows  in  the  country.  Chartrass  was  a 
big  man,  and  a  big-hearted  man.  His  many  friends  mourned 
him,  and  his  relations — his  cousins  of  the  first  and  second  and 
every  other  degree,  of  whom  he  had  seen  little  and  knew  less 
— wondered  which  of  them  would  inherit  the  estate.  The 
general  was  an  important  figure  in  his  life  time.  Important 
as  he  lay  there  dead,  with  the  trail  of  a  great  estate  behind 
him. 

The  cousins  canvassed  their  kinship  and  their  rights. 

Dead  men's  estates  sharpen  the  fangs  of  kin. 


90  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

They  turn  smiles  into  snarls.  Tiie  cousins  were  preparing 
to  rend  each  other. 

The  servants  and  the  many  friends  followed  the  coffin 
silently  and  sorrowfully  out  of  the  house.  "  Earth  to  earth." 
A  clod  fell  down.  It  gave  back  a  hollow  echo.  Dear  friends 
wept  audibly.  From  the  servants  came  a  long,  low  wail.  He 
was  a  gentle  and  indulgent  master.  The  cousins  covered 
their  dry  eyes,  inventoried  the  "  niggaiis"  and  thought  of  the 
estate.  When  the  friends  and  relatives  returned  to  the  house 
the  will  was  read.  It  was  very  brief.  Houses,  lands,  servants  ; 
all  specified,  inventoried,  fully  described  ;  everything  to  my 
dear  ward,  Erma  Petillant,  with  the  request  only  that  she 
assume  the  name  of  Chartrass.  The  intimate  friends  of  the 
general  rejoiced.  They  knew  and  loved  Erma.  The  cousins 
were  dumfounded.  They  took  their  handkerchiefs  from  their 
eyes  ;  shook  the  dust  of  the  Chartrass  mansion  from  their 
feet;  and  went  away  to  consult  the  lawyers.  If  they  could 
not  have  the  estate,  it  was  so  much  pleasanter  to  see  the  law- 
yers swallow  it  in  big  gulps  than  to  have  it  pass  into  other 
hands.  But  the  lav.-yers  for  five  counties  around  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  They  were  friends  of  the  dead  general. 
Thev  honored  his  memory  ;  they  loved  him  in  his  orave  ;  and 
they  loved  his  ward. 

Who  was  the  ward  ?  The  cousins  tore  her  to  tatters. 
Shred  after  shred  they  pulled  away  from  her. 

She  stood  before  them  a  girl,  name  Erma  Petillant.  Paren- 
tatre  unknown.     A^re  seventeen. 

When  Gen.  Chartrass  returned  from  Europe  he  brought 
Erma  with  him,  a  girl  of  twelve.  She  was  introduced  as  the 
daughter  of  a  dear  friend — his  ward — brought  from  France. 
No  living  relatives  known,  competent  to  take  care  of  her. 
She  had  stolen  into  his  heart.  "  Yes,  gentlemen,"  he  fre- 
quently said  to  his  friends,  "riveted  in  there  ;  riveted  fast. 
Anything  \yrong  with  Erma  would  kill  the  old  boy." 

Erma  romped  about  him  on  the  lawn  ;  filled  his  hatband 
and  buttonholes  with  flower  buds  ;  filled  and  lighted  liis  pipes, 
and  rode  with  him  wherever  he  went. 

They    were    inseparable.       It    was  pleasant    to    look    on 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  97 

them.  If  he  walked  away  from  lior,  her  loving  eyes  followed 
him. 

And  he — his  eyes  never  tired  of  lingering  on  her  fawn-like 
motions. 

After  her  aavent  in  the  general's  home  she  mingled  freely 
with  his  many  friends.  He  delighted  to  parade  her  grace 
and  accomplishments. 

All  his  dearest  friends  knew  her.  All  honored  and  loved 
her.  She  was  so  bright,  beautiful  and  winsome,  and  she  was 
the  ward  of  their  friend. 

When  the  general  died  these  friends  surrounded  the 
broken-hearted  Erma  with  their  esteem,  their  affection  and 
their  protection. 

The  cousins  were  amazed.  Chartrass  was  insane,  so  they 
said  ;  they  would  find  a  remedy  at  law.  "Law,"  snorted  Col. 
Valore.     "Jim,  hunt  up  them  thah  derrinjahs." 

Judge  Shootfast  openly  declared  he  would  challenge  "  the 
impecunious  rascals."  "  Yes,  sah,  any  dirty  dog  that  says  my 
noble  friend,  Gen.  Chartrass,  wasn't  right  in  his  mind  must 
fight  me."     The  cousins  were  hungry  bears. 

The  honey  was  there,  but  so  were  the  bees,  in  a  swarm. 
They  knew  Valore,  and  they  knew  Shootfast.  Of  course  it 
was  "  shotgun  tyranny,"  "  interferin'  with  justice,"  "  outrage- 
ous that -a  man  can't  git  his  rights;"  but  then,  there  was 
Valore,  Shootfast  and  a  host  more  of  the  general's  old  friends, 
just  as  quick  on  the  trigger,  and  fully  as  pronounced  in  their 
determination  to  defend  the  sanity  of  Chartrass  and  the  rights 
of  his  ward. 

The  cousins  growled  ;  looked  with  hungering  eyes  on  the 
vast  estate  ;  and  retired.     It  was  a  compulsory  settlement. 

A  little  black  spot  in  the  mouth  of  a  derringer  being  judge 
and  jury. 

But  it  disposed  of  the  contest  finally  and  forever.  The  will 
stood. 

The  ward  inherited.  At  seventeen  Erma  Petillant  Char- 
trass was  the  richest  woman  in  Mississippi,  and  a  thousand 
tongues  said  the  most  beautiful.     Erma  knew  nothing  of  this. 

She  was  down  in  the  valley  of  despair. 


98  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

She  saw  nothing  but  the  grave  under  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  from  wliich  she  was  carried  away  fainting.  She  thought 
of  notliing  but  the  dear  old  general.  She  remembered  him 
far  away  back  in  childhood,  as  far  as  she  could  remember, 
when  she  perched  on  his  shoulder  and  plucked  luscious  grapes 
on  the  hill  sides  of  France.  And  she  remembered  him  then 
as  the  same  dear  old,  generous,  indulgent  friend  he  had 
remained  to  the  end,  when  the  fading  light  in  his  eyes  stole 
out  to  her  and  he  whispered,  "  Kiss — me — Erma,"  and  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips  wandered  away  forever. 

Erma  was  inconsolable.  For  weeks  her  life  was  despaired 
of.  But  youth  and  strength  conquered.  The  tide  turned. 
Erma  recovered.  During  her  sickness  the  General's  old 
friends  came  every  day  in  troops  to  inquire  for  her.  When 
she  was  able  to  see  them  old  gray-haired  men,  boyhood  com- 
panions of  her  guardian,  came  to  her  bedside,  full  of  kindly 
wishes  and  good  cheer.  Their  wives  came  and  their  daught- 
ers. Later,  when  Erma  was  strong  enough  to  leave  her  bed- 
room, they  held  a  counsel.  Erma  was  motherless  and  father- 
less. Her  guardian  was  gone.  She  would  be  visited  by  gen- 
tlemen. Some  gentlewoman  should  reside  with  her.  "  Ap- 
pearances, my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Shootfast.  "  Appearances, 
my  dear,"  echoed  her  husband,  the  jndge.  Erma  was  in  their 
hands.  They  were  her  friends.  She  told  them  she  did  not 
understand,  "  but  you  are  the  dear  general's  friends  and  my 
dear  friends,"  and  of  course  ihey  knew  what  was  the  best. 
The  judge  and  Col.  Valore  stood  up  and  bowed.  "  So 
sweet,"  said  Mrs.  Shootfast.  "  So  wise,"  said  Mrs.  Valore. 
"Sweet,"  "wise,"  echoed  the  gentlemen.  And  the  compan- 
ion was  settled.  Who  ?  Several  names  were  suggested  and 
canvassed. 

For  once  these  good  ladies  put  all  selfish,  personal  feelings 
aside.  They  thought  for  Erma,  and  they  did  it  fairly.  Ermi 
listened  in  silence.  "  Have  you  no  wish,  dear  ?"  asked  Mrs| 
Valore.  "  But  one,"  replied  Erma,  "  that  the  lady  shall  be] 
kind,  very  kind  and  tender  to  the  servants,  and — have  a  gen. 
tie — voice.  It — would — kill — me — to  iiear  liarsli  tones  where 
my  dear,  dear  old  Guardy  has  been  so  long." 


THE    AVOMAN    ON   THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  99 

Col.  Valore  brushed  away  the  tears  that  gathered  in  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  and  walked  to  the  window  to  hide  his 
emotion.  He  loved  Chartrass  ;  loved  him  living  ;  loved  his 
memory  dead.  It  was  a  reasonable  request.  Chartrass  was 
kind  to  his  colored  people  and  he  had  the  softest  voice  in  the 
world. 

At  last  a  name  was  agreed  upon  and  a  method  of  reach- 
ing her. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Colature,"  was  the  lady.  Erma  would  invite 
her  for  a  visit  as  a  "  dear  friend  of  the  general's."  If  Erma 
was  pleased  wnth  her  the  friends  would  arrange  the  rest. 

The  invitation  was  sent  and  accepted.  Mrs.  Colature  came, 
was  loved  by  Erma,  proved  to  be  all  her  friends  believed,  and 
without  knowing  why  or  how,  she  became  head  of  the  Char- 
trass place  and  chaperone  of  Erma. 

A  year  passed.  The  general's  old  friends  drew  Erma  from 
the  seclusion  in  which  she  would  have  concealed  herself. 
Mourning  was  no  sham'  with  her.  The  tint  was  on  her  heart. 
With  her  there  was  no  measuring  of  months  with  colors  and 
shadings.  She  mourned.  The  general's  old  friends  came  to 
see  her,  and  she  owed  these  dear  friends  so  much  she  went  to 
see  them. 

Gradually  visits  increased — society  gathered  about  her. 

Young  people  of  whom  she  had  known  but  little  became 
her  companions  ;  young  gentlemen  laid  their  hearts  and  for- 
tunes at  her  feet. 

At  last  one  came,  he  had  no  fortune. 

His  fatlier  had  been  rich,  was  generous,  was  asked  to  en- 
dorse the  paper  of  a  friend.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  oblige  a 
friend,  "  only  to  sign  your  name  there,  you  know,"  "  great 
help,"  "everlasting  obligation,"  and  all  that. 

It  seemed  so  easy  and  costless. 

He  endorsed,  and  found  it  the  broad  road  to  destruction. 
Wise  men  loan,  fools  endorse.  Give  your  friend  anything  you 
have   but  your   name.     He   gave   his  name  and   was   ruined. 

Erma  was  nearly  nineteen.  This  suitor  was  five  years 
older,  a  fine,  manly  looking  fellow  ;  he  played  and  sang  well, 
spoke  French  like  a  native,  rode  like  a  Mexican,  shot  like  an 


100  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

American,  and,  not  the  least  of  his  attractions,  he  was  the 
nephew  of  "  dear  Colonel  "  Valore. 

Erina  consulted  Col.  Valore,  and,  like  an  honorable  gentle- 
man, the  colonel  declined  to  advise.  He  said  he  believed  the 
young  man  was  not  a  gambler  or  a  drunkard,  two  things  Erma 
should  avoid. 

"  Yes,  dear,  be  sure  to  avoid  them  ;  gamblers  and  drunk- 
ards have  huge  maws  for  devouring  estates  and  happiness." 
Beyond  that  he  w^ould  not  say.  "  He  is  my  nephew  and  is 
poor,  and  I  cannot  consent  to  influence  your  judgment.  Don't 
decide  hastily,  dear.  Consult  your  old  friend  Judge  Shoot- 
fast  and  his  wife.  The  result  was,  Erma  accepted  the  col- 
onel's nephew  and  at  nineteen  was  his  wife. 

She  had  one  year  of  unalloyed  happiness,  then  came 
the  war. 

"  The  state  calls  me  Erma.     The  state  needs  her  sons." 

So  her  husband  said.     What  could  she  say  ? 

For  months  she  had  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  war.  She 
thought  and  spoke  as  the  women  around  her.  She  believed 
it  was  his  duty. 

It  lacerated  her  heart.  But  better  that  than  see  her  loved 
one  sink  under  the  impeachment  of  cowardice.  She  bade 
him  go. 

She  poured  out  her  wealth  to  equip  his  company,  and 
he  went  away.  He  passed  through  a  year  of  campaigning, 
then  he  woke  one  morning,  shivering.  He  drew  more 
blankets  about  him  and  shivered. 

A  high  fever  followed  ;  then  a  surgeon  came. 

"  Ah !     How  d'  ?  " 

"  Bad." 

"Sick?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  see  your  tongue."     The  tongue  was  put  out. 

"H-u-m!     Feverish?" 

»  Yes." 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse."  The  wrist  was  put  up  and 
the  beats  counted  ;  every  throb  of  his  heart  that  sent  the 
blood  in  quick  spurts  through  liis  veins. 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  101 

«H-u-m!     High." 

"  Is  it  ?  " 

"Any  pain?" 

"  Head  aches  dreadfully  ;  bursting." 

"  H-u-m  !  " 

"And  my  back — " 

"Ah!     iPain  there  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Much  !  " 

"Intense  !" 

"Vomit?" 

"  Yes  !  " 
.    "Much?" 

"  Yes !  " 

"H-u-m!" 

"  What  is  it.  doctor  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  your  tongue  again  ?  "  The  tongue  was  put 
out. 

"  H-u-m  !  " 

"What  is  it,  doctor?" 

"Fever  !     All  right  in  a  few  days." 

Three  days  later  tha  skin  was  covered  with  eruptions. 
The  doctor  saw  it;  looked  serious. 

"  What  is  it,  doctor  ?  "  said  the  sick  man. 

"  Small-pox  !  " 

"  Good  heaven  !  " 

The  sad  news  reached  Erma. 

She  drove  rapidly  to  her  friend.  Judge  Shootfast.  There 
she  had  a  will  made.  ''  Reasons"  she  had  none  to  give.  Her 
purpose  was  fixed.  She  would  not  pain  her  dear  friends  by 
listening  to  appeals  and  denying  them.  "Queer  will;  strange 
provisions.  Sensible,  though.  Why  should  she  make  it 
now?"  So  the  judge  said  to  his  wife.  Next  day  he  heard 
she  was  gone  and  why  she  was  gone.  "Grand  girl  !  Grand 
girl  !  Always  said  so."  The  judge  told  it  everywhere. 
"  Grand  girl."  AVhen  the  %vill  was  made  Erma  flew  home- 
ward ;  drew  her  child  to  her   heart  ;  rained  tears   upon   it ; 


102  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIORXS. 

kissed  it  again  and  again  ;  her  love  burned  itself  on  the  babe's 
lips.     Then  she  was  gone. 

Day  and  night  she  sped  on,  until  she  stood  in  camp.  "I 
came  to  nurse  my  husband."  To  denials  of  surgeons,  per- 
suasions of  friends,  frightful  pictures  of  consequence,  she  had 
but  one  answer,  "  He  is  my  husband." 

Immovable  as  heaven,  irrestrainable  as  destiny,  she  per- 
sisted and  triumphed.  She  bound  the  child-ache  in  her  heart, 
chained  her  trembling  fears  and  stood  by  her  husband,  in  tiie 
putrid  breath  of  the  loathsome  disease,  pierced  by  its  pun- 
gent, offensive,  horrible  fetor. 

Her  husband's  face  was  turned  from  the  door  when  she 
entered. 

He  did  not  notice.  She  stood  by  the  bed,  looking  down 
on  his  fevered  brow  and  erupted  face.     He  felt  the  presence. 

It  was  something.     What  was  it  ? 

He  looked  up.  Why  ?  Is  there  a  magnetic  current  con- 
necting loving  hearts  ?     He  looked  and  saw. 

"Good  heavens;  you,  Erma?"  His  voice  was  husky, 
almost  unintelligible. 

But  the  ears  of  love  are  acute,  and  love  is  an  interpreter. 

Erma  understood  him. 

"Yes,  dear;  do  not  excite  yourself." 

"  Oil,  Erma,  how  glad  I  am." 

"Thank  you,  dear." 

"  But  you  must  go,  Erma.     Go  at  once." 

"  I  have  come  to  stay,  dear." 

"  But,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  That  I  have—" 

'*  I  know,  dear." 

"  Small-pox  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  dear,  I  know." 

"  And  you  have  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  knowing,  I  have  come." 

"  Noble  Erma  !  " 

"  Be  calm  now  and  quiet. 

"  But  this  disease  is  contagious." 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  103 

« I  know." 

"  Our  cliild.     Think  of  our  child." 

"  She  is  well  and  God  will  care  for  it." 

"  Dear,  noble  Erma." 

*'  Do  not  speak  again,  dear.  Our  house  is  in  order.  The 
rest  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord.  I  have  come  to  stay  with 
you,  and  I  will  stay." 

He  said  no  more,  and  she  began  to  set  the  room  in  order. 
The  windows  were  closed.  Her  suffering* patient  was  con- 
suming under  a  mountain  of  blankets  and  covers,  and  the 
stench  was  oppressive.     For  an  instant  she   felt   its  influence. 

It  was  nauseating.  Then  she  set  her  teeth  together  and 
subjected  her  nerves.  It  was  the  omnipotence  of  will.  She 
walked  up  to  the  bed  and  touched  the  mountain.  She*  felt  its 
weight.  She  walked  back  towards  the  window,  drew  a  large 
bottle  from  an  ample  pocket,  bathed  her  face  and  hands  and 
arms  and  neck.  It  was  carbolic  acid.  Then  she  returned  to 
the  bed  and  drew  off  the  topmost  cover. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  colored  man  who  served  as  nurse 
stood  beside  her. 

"  What  dis  yeer  ?  " 

"  Taking  these  covers  off." 

"  De  Lawd  !  " 

''  Be  quiet !  " 

"  Dis  yeer  nebbah  do,  mistus." 

"  There  is  another  one;  put  it  in  the  corner." 

"  Goodness  alive,  what  you  doin'  ?  " 

"  There  is  another." 

"  'Clah  to  goodness,  ef  I  ebbah  hearn  de  like." 

"Be  quiet,  please."  She  removed  all  the  covers  but  one 
light  one. 

"Are  you  more  comfortable,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes." 

The  miasma  arising  from  his  body  pervaded  the  room.  It 
was  a  sink  intensified.     It  was  stifling. 

Erma  went  to  the  windows  and  opened  them. 

"  Mistus,  mistus,  fo'  heabin  dat  nebbah  do  !  nebbah  in  de 
woale  !  " 


104  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  He  must  have  air." 

Then  the  surgeon  came  in.  He  noticed  the  bed  and  the 
windows. 

"  Who  did  this  ?  " 

"  I,"  replied  Erma. 

"  This  will  never  do,  madam  !  " 

"  He  is  more  comfortable  already.     See  !  " 

"  You  must  close  the  windows  again." 

"  Tliere  is  no  draft.     See,  I  have  guarded  against  that." 

"  But  the  windows,  you  must  close  them;  close  them." 

"  Doctor,  I  have  opened  them  and   they  shall  stay  open." 

"  Madam,  I  order  it." 

"  I  cannot  help  that." 

"  I  am  his  surgeon,  madam,  his  surgeon." 

"  And  I  am  his  wife,  sir." 

"  Yes,  yes  !     But  I  am  responsible." 

"  My  dear  doctor,  I  relieve  you  of  responsibility." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  his  patient,  shook  his  head  and  went 
away.     That  night  her  husband  rested  better. 

The  third  day  after,  the  surgeon  went  away  without  pre- 
scribing. 

The  sick  man's  body  was  one  universal  ulcerous  sore,  pus- 
tulation  everywhere,  and  purple  black.  The  foul  odor  was 
sharp  as  a  sabre.  It  penetrated  like  a  knife.  The  skin  was 
parched.  It  cracked  and  tore.  It  was  a  frightful  rending  of 
the  surface.  The  intense  pain  of  her  husband  penetrated 
Erma.  Her  soul  was  bubbling  with  tears.  She  put  a  stone 
over  the  fountain.  She  would  not  trouble  the  sick  man.  The 
only  visible  sign  of  her  heartache  was  a  smile. 

More  power  of  will.     She  was  thinking. 

The  male  nurse  was  standing  beside  her. 

Erma  turned  to  him. 

"Something  must  be  done  to  allay  the  pain  of  that  dread- 
ful cracking  and  parching  of  the  skin." 

"  Doan  know  nuffin'."  The  nurse  was  hardened.  He 
had  seen  patients  in  that  condition  before,  and  knew  its 
meaning. 

"  There  must  be  something." 


THE    WOMAX    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  105 

"Reckon  d'aiiit  imffiii'." 

"  Would  warm  sponging  ?  " 

"  Lawd  !  " 

"  A  warm  bath  ?  " 

The  colored  man  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  There 
was  a  movement  of  the  sick  man's  purple  lips. 

But  they  were  soundless. 

Erma  had  read  the  surgeon's  signs. 

She  read  the  nurse. 

She  felt  they  had  abandoned  hope. 

When  she  had  cleansed  her  husband's  hands  she  used 
warm  sponging.  The  hands  now  were  the  only  pliant  and 
painless  part  of  the  body.  She  looked  at  the  hands,  looked  at 
his  neck  and  face  and  breast.  She  thought  of  the  surgeon  and 
his  transparent  hopelessness.  Must  she  lose  him  ?  Why 
should  he  go  in  pain  ?  If  warm  water  had  relieved  the  hands, 
why  not  the  body  ?  Thinking,  the  idea  became  fixed  in  her 
mind.  He  should  have  ease  and  comfort  if  it  could  be  secured. 
He  should  have  the  bath. 

She  was  resolved.     Now  as  to  means. 

"  Peter,  I  must  have  a  bath-tub." 

"  D'aint  none   no  whah  !  " 

"Here,  take  all  the  money  you  wish,  as  much  more  for 
yourself,  and  have  a  long  wooden  box  made  that  will  hold 
water." 

Peter  took  the  money  and  looked  wonderingly  on  the 
woman. 

"  Order  hot  water  in  the  cook-room  as  you  go  out." 

'^Yas'm." 

Pete  ran  away  to  the  surgeon. 

"  Hot  water  ? "  said  the  surgeon.  "  Nevah  heard  the 
like." 

"  Tole  she  dat." 

"  Let  her  have  it." 

"  Gib  she  de  watah  ?  "  cried  Pete,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  it  will  do  no  injury.     He  will  die  anyway." 

"  I  knowes  dem  yah  winnas  kill  um." 


106  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  It  wasn't  the  windows,  Pete.  He  was  a  dead  man  be- 
fore she  came." 

Pete  went  away.  In  an  hour  a  box  six  feet  long,  eighteen 
inches  wicte  and  deep,  was  in  the  sick  room.  Its  seams  were 
caulked  and  it  was  tight.  The  water  was  brought  in,  poured 
in  llie  box  and  tempered  down.  Erma  and  Peter  lifted  the 
patient  into  it  on  a  sheet.  Five  minutes  passed.  He  was 
insensible.  His  eyes  were  closed.  A  writliing  of  pain  on  his 
face.  The  writhing  vanished.  The  face  smoothed.  The  eyes 
opened.     Then  the  lips. 

"  Oh  I     This  is  heaven  !  " 

Erma  could  have  wept. 

"Are  you  comfortable,  dear  ?  " 

"This  is  heaven  !  "  The  fetor  had  completely  disappeared. 

"We  will  take  you  out  now." 

"  Oh,  Erma,  no  !  I  have  no  pain.  Out  of  here  is  tor- 
ment." 

Then  the  surgeon  came  and  stood  beside  the  tub.  He 
heard  the  last  exclamation. 

"  Now  that  he  is  here,  perhaps  you  had  better  let  him 
remain." 

"  How  long,  doctor  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  madam;  we  will  see." 

He  put  his  finger  in  the  tub  and  felt  the  temperature  of 
the  water. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  in  ?" 

"  Three  to  five  minutes." 

"H-u-m  !  "     All  looked  silently  at  the  man  in  the  tub. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  dear  ?  " 

"  All  under  the  water  is  so  comfortable." 

"  Shall  we  lower  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  !  " 

The  surgeon  looked  again,  "  Perhaps  you  had  better  lower 
him." 

They  placed  a  soft  pillow  under  his  head  and  pushed  him 
down  in  the  water.     Nothing  but  his  face  appeared  above  it. 

Five  minutes  passed  away. 

"  Shall  we  take  vou  out  now  ?" 


THE    WOMAN    OX    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  107 

"  Oh,  Erma,  I  am  so  happy  here." 

The  surgeon  felt  the  water  again. 

"  Let  him  remain." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Have  some  more  water  heated  and  keep 
the  temperature  where  it  is." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  cover  the  tub.  all  but  his  head." 

"  Perhaps." 

The  tub  was  covered.  The  patient's  eyes  and  his  mind 
v/ere  brightening.     He  murmured  again,  ''  This  is  heaven  !  " 

"  Is  not  the  warm  water  debilitating,"  asked  Erma  anx- 
iously. 

»  Yes ! " 

"  Would  not  a  stimulant  aid  him  ?  " 

"  H-u-m  ! " 

"  Shall  I  give  him  brandy  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  do." 

The  brandy  was  given.     The  surgeon  noticed  its  effect. 

"H-u-m!     Singular!     Shouldn't  wonder — " 

»  H-u-m  !  " 

"  See  how  bright  he  looks  ?  "  Erma  said  this.  Hope  was 
rising  up  within  her. 

"Queer!  Odd!  Never  heard  of  this  before."  The  sur- 
geon was  muttering  to  himself.     Then  louder. 

"  Give  him  more  brandy.     A  teaspoon  at  a  time." 

They  kept  him  in  the  bath  seven  hours,  giving  a  teaspoon 
of  brandy  at  a  time.  Then  they  returned  him  to  bed.  His 
skin  was  soft.  His  sores  moist.  The  next  day  Erma  tried  the 
bath  again,  seven  hours  more.  When  he  w^as  taken  out  the 
surface  of  his  body  was  clear  and  soft.  The  sores  healthy  and 
white.  The  cracking  and  tearing  of  the  skin  was  gone.  That 
night  he  slept  well.  The  next  morning  he  awoke  refreshed  ; 
his  mind  clear.  He  had  turned  the  sharp  corner.  He  im- 
proved steadily,  with  mild  turnings  he  ran  on  into  the  straight, 
and  was  safe.  Then  Erma  ran  away  with  him  to  her  home, 
and  on  its  threshold — fainted.  Mystery  of  womanhood  ;  rend- 
ing the  beast  that  assails  its  love,  and  dying  away  at  the  sight 
of  its  retiring  tracks. 


108  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

A  few  weeks  devoted  to  rest,  recuperation  and  love-mak- 
inir,  and  the  husband  as^ain  buckled  his  sabre-belt.  He  was 
an  ardent  Confederate,  and  a  brave  one.  The  South  needed 
its  sons.  Erma  kissed  him,  dropped  a  tear  where  he  had  stood 
and  turned  back  to  her  cliild.  Valore,  Shootfast  and  all  the 
rest  of  them  came.  The  surgeon  had  told  ;  Col.  Trenhom 
and  others  repeated.  The  story  swelled.  It  rolled  like  an 
anthem  about  the  Chartrass  place. 

When  Erma  went  away  it  was  "grand  girl,"  when  she  re- 
turned, it  was  "grand  woman,"  "magnificent,"  "  v/onderful," 
"  heroic."     The  vocabulary  of  praise  was  exhausted. 

Erma  had  friends  before.  She  had  worshipers  now.  In 
the  fragrant  breath  of  this  adoration  she  lived  until  the  au- 
tumn of  1863.  Then  a  rumor  came.  Her  husband's  regiment 
was  coming  westward.  Then  a  letter  from  her  husband,  brief 
and  hasty.  "  Somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Chattanooga." 
She  hurried  away  to  see  him  if  but  for  a  moment. 

Chattanooga  was  in  the  hands  of  Rosecrans.  She  turned 
southward  and  reached  Lafayette.  Trenhom's  regiment  and 
her  husband  were  beyond  Pigeon  Mountain  toward  Chicka- 
mauga.  On  again.  It  was  Sunday  morning.  The  shreds  of 
an  army  were  whirled  past  her,  and  she  heard  there  was  a  fight 
"yesterday."  Deep  peals  of  thunder  reached  her  ear.  She 
looked  up,  the  sky  was  cloudless.  The  thunder  deepened. 
Fresh  shreds  whirled  past  her.  She  reached  the  Chickamauga. 
The  roar  ceased.  The  calm  startled  her  more  than  the  thun- 
der. 

The  Trenhom  regiment  was  found  torn,  mutilated,  shat- 
tered. 

"  My  husband,  where  ?  " 

"  God  knows  !      Among  tiie  cinders  !  " 

"When  seen  last  ?" 

"  About  noon." 

"And  its  track  then  ?" 

"Out  through  deadening,  over  the  hill." 

Erma  rushed  away.  It  was  she  that  came  out  of  the  woods 
and  looked  down  in  the  wiiite  faces.  She  stood  on  the  hillside, 
above  her  the  clear  cloudless  skv  and  bright   moon.     Behind 


THE    WOMAN    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  109 

her  the  valley  lost  in  mist ;  the  broad  gray  sea.  From  face  to 
face.  Would  she  never  find  him  ?  The  cry  "  w-a-t-e-r ! 
w  a-t-e-r  !  ■'  ever  wailing  in  her  heart. 

Far  up  on  the  hill,  beyond  the  barricades,  a  man  lay  on  his 
face.  She  turned  him  over,  "  not  him  !  Oh,  no  !  How  blind. 
He  is  dressed  in  blue  !  "  A  few  feet  away  she  saw  an  up- 
turned face.  Her  heart  stood  still.  She  dropped  on  her 
knees,  laid  her  hand  on  the  forehead.  It  was  cold.  * "  Oh, 
God  !  "  She  tore  open  the  coat,  and  the  shirt,  laid  her  hand 
on  his  heart.     "  Thank  God  ! " 

She  felt  a  fluttering  under  her  touch. 

She  drew  her  hand  away.  Palled  a  flask  from  her  pocket, 
opened  it,  drew  the  cold  lips  apart,  and  the  teeth,  turned  the 
flask.     Guro-le  !  ofuror-le  ! 

The  burning  fluid  ran  into  his  throat. 

There  was  a  gulping.     A  shiver  passed  through  the  body. 

The  eyes  opened. 

"Erma  !  " 

"  Dale  !  " 

It  was  Dale  Cartier. 

Thus  again  had  his  devoted  wife  proved  an  angel  of  rescue. 


110  BRISTLIN^G    WITH    THORNS. 


CHAPTER   X 


NEWS    FROM    CHICKAMAUGA. 


Major  Munson  was  very  content,  sitting-  in  his  quarters  at 
Fernandina.  The  order  excluding  females  from  the  depart- 
ment had  been  relaxed,  until  it  had  been  quite  forgotten,  and 
the  provost  marshal  at  Hilton  Head  if  he  remem-ljered  the  old 
order,  pushed  it  far  away  back  in  his  head  when  pretty  Mrs. 
Munson  stood  in  the  gangway  of  the  Matanzas  witii  lier  sister 
and  asked  permission  to  land  and  visit  her  husband  at  Fernan- 
dina. Provost  marshals  are  men  and  human.  It  requires 
a  woman  to  resist  the  tongue  and  eyes  of  her  sex — a  woman 
can  say  no  to  the  sweetest  lips  and  the  loveliest  complexion 
that  ever  were  garmented  in  petticoats.  In  fact  to  be  sweet 
and  pretty  is  the  one  sin  of  appearance  surest  to  win  "no" 
from  women  who  never  sinned  in  that  direction.  But  a  man 
— even  if  he  is  old  and  ugly  and  clothed  with  the  pomp  of 
place,  and  a  provost  marshal  at  that — will  be  blind  as  a  mole 
to  orders  that  stand  in  the  way  of  a  pretty  woman's  wishes. 
So  pretty  Mrs.  Munson,  with  her  baby  and  her  sister,  were 
permitted  to  land  and  furnished  transportation  to  her  husband, 
who  was  assistant  post  surgeon  at  Fernandina. 

Fernandina  is  on  Amelia  island,  and  the  island  is  the 
belchings  of  the  sea,  the  excrement  of  storms,  its  light,  sliifting 
sands  eddying  and  whirling  at  the  touch  of  every  breeze, 
creeping  in  unwelcome  intrusion  through  every  crevice  of  the 
town. 

Tea  was  over,  and  the  major  had  settled  down  to  his  pip6 
and  a  magazine.  His  wife  was  seated  beside  him,  tlie  baby  in 
lier  lap,  looking  down  admiringly  at  the  nude,  plump  legs, 
which  stood  up  at  right  angles  from  its  little  body.  She  had 
disrobed  it  and  was  about  putting  on  its  night-dress.      But  the 


NEWS    FROM    CHICKAMAUGA.  Ill 

sight  of  those  legs.  How  could  she  hide  them — what  mother 
can  ?  She  stooped  down  and — adoringly  kissed  them  and  the 
toes.  And  the  baby  kicked  and  crowed,  and  the  mother 
kissed  again  and  again. 

"  Oh,  John  !  do  look  !  " 

A  cloud  of  smoke  rolled  lazily  away  from  the  major's  lips, 
and  through  the  wreaths  his  wife  saw  that  his  laughing  eyes 
were  yet  fixed  on  the  j^ages  before  him.  He  had  heard  that 
"  do  look  !  "  every  night  since  baby  arrived. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  legs  ?" 

The  major  still  looked  straight  ahead  at  the  book. 

"  The  pootiest — tootyest  !  "  more  kissing. 

Mrs.  Munson's  sister  Kitty  looked  on  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table,  a  smile  wreathing  her  rosy  lips  ;  then  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  "  Aunt  Polly,"  their  colored  ser- 
vant, stood  in  the  doorway,  her  portly  person  nearly  filling  it, 
broad  as  it  was.     Then  she  passed  into  the  room,  exclaiming  : 

"  Clah,  ef  dat  Jupe  hain't  done  got  mo'  lives  dan  a  cat." 

Hearing  Polly,  Kitty  lifted  her  rosy  face  and  asked,  "  How 
many  is  that,  auntie  ?" 

'*  An'  you  doan  know  dat,  honey  '^  " 

''  No,  Polly,  how  many  is  it  ?" 

"  Clar  ef  I  doan  hean  you  uns  in  de  nawf  knowed  ebery- 
thing." 

"I  don't  know  that." 

"How  many  is  it.  Aunt  Polly  ?"  asked  the  major. 

"  An'  you  doan  know  dat,  Maws  Majah  ?" 

"No,  Polly  ;  do  tell  us.     How  many  is  it?" 

"  Deed  ef 'tain'  perdic'lous.     An'  tain'  in  your  books  ?  " 

"  No,  Polly  ;  it  isn't  in  the  books." 

''  Den  a  man  kin  know  all  de  books  an'  be  mighty  nigner- 
amuses?" 

Kitty—"  That's  so,  Polly  ;  a  regular— what  did  you  call  it?" 

Polly — "  Nigneramuses." 

Kitty—"  That's  it,  Polly,  a  regular  nigneramuses.  But 
how  many  lives  has  a  cat  ?  " 

Polly — "  Honey,  he  done  got  nine  fo'  sho'  !  " 

Major—"  Oh,  Polly— deduct  one.     Do  !  " 
8 


112  JJJiJSl  i.l.N*.     \\illl     llloliNS. 

Polly  —  "  Duck  one,  Maws  Majah,  no,  sah  ;  duckin'  ain't 
no  'count.  You  kin  duck  an'  duck,  but  till  dey's  kill  nine 
time  dey  nebbah  go  dead,  no,  sah,  nebbah." 

"  I  think  1  could  coax  one  to  'go  dead  '  the  first  time." 

"  Dat's  much  you  know,  sah  !  You  might  jess  so  well  try 
ter  fool  a  r.unaway  niggah  from  do  mawsh  wid  a  staach  shirt." 

"And  a  runaway  slave  would  not  leave  his  hiding  in  a 
swamp  even  for  a  clean  shirt  ?"  queried 'Kitty. 

Polly — "  Deed  no,  honey." 

"  And  a  cat  is  never  dead  until  he  is  killed  nine  times  ?" 

"  Foil  shoa  !  " 

"But  how  do  you  kill  them  the  ninth  time  ?" 

Polly — "  Dis  way,  Miss  Kitty  :  Yeh  gits  de  cat  by  hiin 
hine  laig  " — 

"  Oh  ! " 

"Jess  so.  Miss  Kitty.  Den  fine  a  crookt  saplin  with  free 
branches." 

"Only  three?" 

Polly — "  Pm  tellin  yer.  Miss  Kitty.  Mine  now,  and  wawk 
free  timesrown  it,  wid  you  head  obah  you  lelTshouldah." 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  Den  buss  him  head  clah  off"  ginn  a  rock." 

"  Oh  !    Oh  !  " 

Poll^^'s  recipe  for  cat  killing  was  greeted  with  peals  of 
laughter,  out  of  which  Major  Munson  asked: 

"Wouldn't  it  do  to  bust  its  head  clear  oif  against  a  rock, 
without  walking  round  a  sapling?" 

"'Clar  to  de  Lawd,  majah,  ef  you  doan  know  nulfiii  'bout 
cats,"  replied  Polly,  as  she  stood  with  her  broad  black  hands 
resting  on  the  mound  of  flesh  that  concealed  her  hip  bones, 
looking  down  on  the  major,  pitying  his  ignorance  of  cats. 
Then  she  suddenly  broke  out,  "Clar  of  I  ain't  done  dismem- 
bah'd." 

"Forgot  what?" 

"  Dat  fool  niggah  Jupo." 

"What  about  Jupe?" 

"  Him  doun  at  de  foat — done  gone  dead  foh  shoah  dis 
time,  and  dey  wants  you  down  dab  permejate." 


NEWS    FKOM    CHICKAMAUGA.  113 

"Immediately?" 

"  Dat's  it,  Maws  Major,  permejate." 

"What  good  can  I  do  if  he's  dead?" 

"  D'no,  sah.     De  cuniiel's  orderer" — 

"  Orderly  "— 

"Yes,  sah,  de  orderer,  him  done  come  an'  say  come  per- 
mejate." 

"  And  it  is  Jupe  again  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  done  come  back  dead  wid  some  po'  white  trash, 
mo'  fool  he,  get  himsef  kilt  fo'  no  'count,  triflin'  crackah." 

The  major  drew  on  his  boots  and  coat  and  went  away 
down  to  the  fort.  In  little  more  than  an  hour  he  returned. 
While  at  the  fort  a  gunboat  from  the  North  came  in  with 
Northern  papers. 

One  of  these  he  tossed  to  his  wife's  sister. 

Instantly  tearing  it  open,  she  began  greedily  devouring  its 
contents. 

As  the  major  hung  up  his  coat  he  heard  a  moaii  behind 
him. 

Looking  about,  he  saw  Kate  prone  and  rigid  on  the  floor, 
the  paper  tightly  clasped  in  her  hand. 

The  major  raised  Kate,  called  his  wife,  applied  restora- 
tives.    Kate  opened  her  eyes  and  moaned. 

Then  the  major  looked  at  the  paper.  Great  lines  of  huge 
type  stared  him  in  the  face. 

"Two  days'  battle  at  Chickamauga;  Union  troops  defeated; 
Thomas  saves  the  army;  loss  frightful." 

His  eyes  turned  to  the  list  of  killed. 

Among  the  first  was  the  name  that  brought  the  moan  to 
Kitty's  lips;  and  brought  tears  to  the  major's  eyes.-. 

It  was  Kitty's  husband — Halmek  Huxtly. 


114  BRISTLING    WITU    THORNS. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

DAT    FOOL    NIGGAH    JUPE. 

Jupe  was  a  slave,  born  on  the  sea  coast  of  Virginia,  in 
Princess  Anne  county.  Even  when  a  child,  paddling  in  the 
surf  that  rolled  on  the  beach  of  Princess  Anne,  he  knew  that 
he  had  a  master  and  that  he  was  a  slave.  But,  what  is  a  slave? 
He  had  somehow  learned  it  was  the  difiference  between  him- 
self and  his  master's  sons.  But  that  was  not  quite  plain.  To 
his  young  mind  there  was  none.  There  is  but  one  real  repub- 
lic— childhood.  The  master's  sons  and  he,  as  children,  had 
played,  and  fished,  and  fought  together.  As  they  grew  up 
the  fighting  was  abandoned,  but  the  companionship  continued. 
Jupe  was  black,  they  were  sun-browned.  Yet  he  had  been 
told  it  too  often  not  to  know  that  they  were  free  and  he  was  a 
slave.  They  lived  with  their  parents,  he  with  his;  they  in  a 
great  house,  he  in  a  small,  but  what  the  distinction  was  be- 
yond this  he  was  too  busy  reveling  in  his  wealth  of  youth  to 
inquire. 

His  chains  sat  so  lightly  on  him.  There  was  no  chafing  or 
galling.  And  until  he  knew  he  was  to  be  sold  away  from  his 
home,  he  would  not  have  changed  his  condition  for  any  other 
on  earth. 

Tiie  slave  hatchery  knew  the  value  of  contented,  well-con- 
ditioned slaves. 

Wise  people  neither  abuse  nor  overwork  the  cattle  they 
are  preparing  for  a  market. 

Virorinia  raised  slaves  for  a  market. 

o 

Georgia  bought  and  worked  them. 

That  was  the  difference  between  Virginia  and  Georgia. 

Virginia  wAs  paternal. 

Georgia  was  masterful. 


DAT  FOOL  NIGGAH  JUPE.  115 

Even  when  Jupe  was  first  sold  he  felt  his  bondage  only 
through  his  affections.  There  was  no  crying  out,  "Oh!  that  I 
am  a  slave."  "Oh!  that  T  were  free."  "He  wept  and 
pined?"  Yes!  But  he  wept  for  home  and  pined  for  his 
mother.  He  did  not  yet  know  that  he  was  a  slave.  Until 
now  it  was  merely  a  word.  So  far  in  his  life  it  had  only  been 
a  sound.  It  was  yet  to  become  a  fact,  branded  into  his  soul. 
He  only  knew  that  he  was  taken  away  from  Princess  Anne, 
from  the  sight  of  the  foam  crested  surf,  from  the  home  of  his 
childhood,  from  his  brothers,  and  sisters,  and  father  and 
mother.  He  cried  out,  but  it  was  the  same  word  always: 
"Mammy!   Mammy!   Mammy!" 

In  the  cotton  fields  of  Georgia  he  learned  that  he  was  a 
slave,  and  he  knew  what  it  meant.  There  he  passed  the  next 
twelve  years  of  his  life.  In  these  years  he  often  longed  to  be 
free.  But  as  for  hope,  he  had  none.  The  heart  of  Georgia  is 
far  from  the  north  star.  Desperate  slaves,  even  there,  some- 
times fled  away.  But  it  was  to  conceal  themselves  in  morasses 
and  caves;  to  hide  away;  no  more.  The  idea  of  escaping  to 
a  land  of  freedom  never  penetrated  these  large  interior  plan- 
tations. "Where  was  there  such  a  land?"  The  slave  stolen 
from  Africa  knew  of  his  native  jungles;  but  that  was  far  away 
over  the  sea.  The  others  knew  of  nowhere  on  earth.  They 
mig-ht  hide  awav  for  a  season,  or  they  mio-ht  elude  shot-o-uns 
and  bloodhounds  and  lay  their  bleached  bones  in  the  swamps, 
as  others,  goaded  beyond  endurance,  had  done  before.  They 
might  die  and  be  free.  But  to  live  and  be  free  was  beyond 
their  hopes.  It  had  never  occurred,  so  far  as  they  knew,  and 
they  were  not  dreamers.     Densely  ignorant  people  never  are. 

In  1861  there  came  to  them  a  rumor.  How  it  came  no 
one  knew. 

There  is  war. 

"  What  is  war  ?  " 

To  a  child  it  is  a  sound  without  meaning. 

The  slaves  on  the  large  plantations  of  the  far  South  were 
children. 

To  them  "  war  "  was  a  word,  no  more. 

It  must  be  something  out  of  the  ordinary  course.     Some 


116  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

startling  fact.  Was  it  famine,  or  a  distemper,  or  something 
threatening  death  to  *'  king  cotton  ?"  This  they  did  not 
know.     They  soon  learned.     "  What  is  it  about,  and  where  ?" 

On  the  small  plantations  farther  north,  where  masters 
vapored  and  house  servants  listened,  where  the  house  hands 
had  tongues  and  the  field  hands  had  ears,  they  knew  very 
early.  But  the  large  plantations  of  the  cotton,  rice  and  sugar 
belts  were  organized  on  a  different  basis.  There  they  had  no 
communication  with  house  servants  and  their  sources  of 
information  were  cut  off.  But  information  came  even  to 
them.  The  war  was  in  Virginia.  That  spread  from  planta- 
tion to  plantation.  Jupe  knew  where  that  was.  It  was  a 
long,  long  way  off.  And  what  need  he  care  ?  What  need 
any  of  them  care  ? 

It  was  no  concern  of  theirs. 

If  white  men  will  fight,  why  let  them  fight. 

The  truth  filtered  slowly  into  their  minds.  First  one  fact, 
then  another.     Little  by  little. 

There  must  be  a  first  drop  or  there  never  will  be  a  full 
cup. 

The  first  drop  was  the  war. 

"Cursed  Yankees!"  said  Col.  Saltire  to  his  overseer. 
Jupe  heard  his  master.  Hero  was  another  fact.  The  slave- 
owners were  fio-htino:  the  Yankee. 

Jupe  was  putting  two  and  two  together. 

He  was  learning  the  art  of  making  four. 

One  day  the  overseer  was  persuading  a  poor  white  to  join 
the  army.  Jupo  heard  the  reply  :  "  No !  If  the  masters 
want  ter  keep  thar  niggahs  let  'em  fight  for  'em." 

His  sum  was  complete. 

The  war  was  about  the  slave. 

That  night  he  prayed  "  Lord  holp  de  Yonkee." 

In  the  winter  there  came  another  rumor  :  "  The  Yankees 
have  possession  of  the  coast."  It  always  was  a  marvel  how 
these  rumors  found  their  way  to  the  remotest  plantations. 

Jupe  heard  this  too.  "  Where  is  the  coast  ?"  He  knew 
the  coast  of  Princess  Anno  all  along  down  Cape  Henry  and  as 
far  as  he  could  see.     "  Is  there  anv  otlier  coast  ?  " 


DAT    FOOL    NIGGAH    JUPE.  117 

He  dare  not  ask. 

He  was  ears  without  a  mouth.  The  next  Sunday  after  he 
heard  this  he  was  bathing  in  a  brook  that  ran  through  the 
Saltire  phice.  His  mind  was  full  of  "  the  coast."  The  waters 
were  running  away  softly  over  the  pebbles.  He  felt  the  cur- 
rent washing  the  sand  out  from  under  his  feet,  and  a  garment 
which  he  had  thrown  in  to  wash  floated  away  down  the  stream. 
He  observed  it.  Then  the  thought  came  to  him,  Where 
would  it  o;o  to  ?  Where  does  this  water  o'o  to  ?  He  was  long 
thinking  it  out. 

"To  the  coast  !.  To  the  sea  !  It  did  in  Princess  Anne;  it 
must  here." 

Accident. was  befriending  him  as  it  has  the  world  from  the 
beo-innins:. 

The  swinging  of  a  Pisa  cathedral  lamp  was  accidentally 
witnessed  and  observed.  Result:  The  Pendulum.  An  alpha- 
bet, cut  from  moist  bark  to  amuse  children,  chanced  to  be 
wrapped  in  parchment  and  leave  an  imprint  ;   hence  type. 

Chance  is  the  lever  of  the  Infinite  under  human  device. 

That  is,  God. 

Crown  chance  with  laurels  ;  its  triuni])hs  are  as  the  sands 
of  the  sea. 

Jupe  wondered  when  the  thought  came  to  him.  After- 
ward he  wondered  that  he  had  not  thought  of  it  earlier.  Up 
to  this  he  was  quiescent  and  hopeful.  Now  he  became  active 
and  hopeful.  Jupe's  wife  belonged  to  anotlier  owner,  Mrs. 
Miranda  Witlier,  five  miles  away  over  the  hills.  He  would 
not  see  her  until  the  following  Sunday.  Jupe  tried  to  count 
the  days  on  his  fingers.  How  could  he  wait  ?  From  Sunday 
to  Sunday  is  eternity  to  an  eager  purpose.  Without  his  wife 
he  could  not  go.  No!  She  would  Ry  with  him.  He  would 
wait  and  he  could  prepare.  During  every  day  of  the  week  he 
hid  away  provisions.  Sunday  came.  Never  before  was  there 
a  Sunday  so  welcome.  The  rising  sun  saw  him  on  the  hill 
tops  striding  forward  to  his  wife.  The  larks  tliat  flitted  in  the 
bushes  were  not  blither.  The  warblers  caroling  in  the  trees 
were  not  merrier  than  Jupiter,  on  the  road  for  his  wife  and 
liberty.     When  he   reached  the    Witlier  plantation   his   wife 


118  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

was  en^ao^ed  with  Mrs.  Miranda.  It  was  hours  before  he 
could  draw  her  out  of  ear-shot.  Then  he  told  her.  His  wife 
stood  up  before  him  when  he  spoke  of  liberty.  As  he  went 
on  her  eyes  opened  wide — wider  ;  her  lips  were  set  apart  ; 
then  her  teeth.  She  wept.  "  Bress  de  Lawd !  Dey  is 
fweedom."  "  Yes,  bress  de  Lawd,"  whispered  .Jupe. 
"  Come ! " 

Then  Mansa — tliat  was  his  wife's  name — sat  down  by  him 
on  the  ground,  her  hands  folded  on  her  knees,  and  looked 
straight  down  into  the  earth. 

Puzzled  people  always  look  there,  as  if  it  would  answer 
and  solve  for  them.  Freedom  and  her  husband  were  on  one 
side,  her  sense  of  duty  on  the  other. 

It  was  a  bitter  struggle. 

The  storm  shook  her  strong  frame. 

"  Mansa,  we  uns  mus  gwo  dis  night." 

No  answer. 

"  Does  ye  heah,  Mansa  ?  " 

"  Yaas !  " 

"  Dis  night." 

"  Juptah,  I  can't  do  dat." 

"  Not  gwanter  gwo  !  " 

"  No  ! " 

"  De  Lawd  !  " 

"  Dah's  mistus  !  " 

"Dah's  fweedom  !" 

*'  Fweedom'll  lib  ;  mistus  gwan  ter  die." 

"  What  we  uns  keah  ?" 

"Juptah!"  exclaimed  Mansa  in  a  tone  of  pain  and  sur- 
prise. 

"  What  we  uns  keah  !  " 

"  Po'  ole  mistus." 

"  Heap  mo'  niggah — " 

"  I'ze  alius  done  be«n  mistus's  nuss." 

"  Kin  git  mo'  nuss." 

"Ole  mistus  die  widout  I." 

"  Dars  mo'  nuss." 

"No  mo'  nuss  dat  know  MIjjS  Randy." 


DAT    FOOL    NIGGAH    JUPE.  119 

In  their  crude  way  the  matter  was  fully  discussed  in  all  its 
bearings.  Mrs.  Miranda  was  old  and  feeble.  Her  life  de- 
pended on  the  presence  and  care  of  Mansa.  So  Mansa  thought. 
It  was  Mansa's  burden.  "  De  Lawd  "  put  it  on  her  to  care 
for  "Miss  Randy  tell  she  done  gone,"  and  Mansa  must  bear 
the  burden.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  be  happy  even  in 
freedom  if  she  deserted  the  feeble  woman.  Then  she  owed 
something  to  Mrs.  Miranda  Wither.  Mansa  was  to  be  sold 
South.  "  Miss  Randy  "  had  purchased  her  at  Mansa's  solici- 
tation and  prevented  it.  She  would  be  patient  and  do  her 
duty  to  "Miss  Randy."  When  she  was  dead  she  would  join 
Jupe.  So  Mansa  had  resolved.  But  Jupe  would  not  go  alone. 
He  declared  that  ao-ain  and  ao-ain.  Ag-ainst  this  resolution 
Mansa  earnestly  protested.  "  De  Lawd  sabe  we.  Wat  yer 
tawk.     Gwo  !     Gwo  !     Gwo  !     Be  fwee,  mon  !     Be  fwee  !  " 

Then  the  determination  was  reached,  he  would  go,  and 
she,  when  night  came,  would  walk  over  the  hills  and  see  him 
start. 

Hand  in  hand  they  walked  to  the  "  Saltire  branch."  She 
lashed  his  provisions  to  his  back,  embraced  him  again  and 
agaiUj  saw  him  enter  the  stream,  i?aw  him  swallowed  in  the 
gloom — then  hopefully — sorrowfully  turned  her  face  home- 
ward. 

So  Jupe  started  for  the  coast  and  the  sea.  "  How  far  is  it  ? 

The  sea  is  at  Princess  Anne.  That  is  so  far.  Is  it  only 
there  ?  Does  this  water  go  there  ?  Where  else  does  it  go  ?" 
These  were  questions  he  asked  himself.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  answer  them.  He  only  knew  that  water  ran  away  to 
the  sea.  This  was  the  crude  outline.  Hope  filled  the  gaps. 
He  was  in  the  stream.  The  water  would  guide  him  and  it 
would  blunt  the  nose  of  following  hounds.  At  first,  except 
here  and  there  in  pools,  the  water  was  barely  over  his  ankle. 
When  the  srrowino;  lio-ht  warned  him  of  the  comins;  of  a  new 
day  it  had  grown  half  way  to  his  knees.  Then  he  took  refuge 
high  up  among  the  branches  of  a  tree  that  grew  close  to  the 
stream   bank,  and  waited  for   darkness  to  come   again. 

He  lost  count  of  the  nights  that  followed.  He  tumbled 
into  holes.     He  stumbled  over  stones.     He  journeyed  slowly, 


120  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

painfully,  but  every  step  that  he  followed  the  receding  waters 
l)rouorht  him  nearer  to  the  sea. 

Deeper  and  deeper  the  water  grew. 

It  foamed  about  his   hips.     It  rippled    against  liis   back. 
Walking  in  the  stream  was  no  longer  possible. 

Groping  his  way  up  the  bank,  he  laid  his  hands  upon  a 
canoe.  He  was  overjoyed.  He  thought  it  was  Providence. 
Entering  it  hastily  he  pushed  from  the  shore.  Tlien  it  occur- 
red to  him,  "  Will  not  the  canoe  be  missed  ?  Will  they  not 
search  for  it  down  the  stream  ?"  x\  few  days'  freedom  had 
given  him  the  Providence  of  freemen — thinking.  He  was 
learinng  to  put  two  and  two  together  rapidly.  He  paddled 
back  and  replaced  the  canoe  where  he  found  it.  Then  he 
began  to  realize  hovv  great  a  peril  he  had  escaped.  Great 
beads  of  perspiration  rolled  from  his  head.  He  was  smitten 
with  terror.  Sudden  danger  always  has  its  after  fright.  It 
was  a  narrow  escape.  He  hurried  away  keeping  close  to  the 
stream,  fearful  to  lose  sight  of  it,  pressing  through  the  tangled 
underbrush  and  beating  his  head  against  low  lying  Hinbs. 
Suddenly  he  sprang  toward  the  water.  He  was  so  near  to  it 
that  one  bound  carried  him  in,  up  to  his  waist  in  the  current. - 
It  was  the  impetus  of  a  new  alarm — the  bloodhound.  Tliere 
was  no  deep  ba\nng  in  the  woods,  no  rustling  of  the  leaves. 
The  hounds  were  far  away.  Their  fierceness  perhaps  chained 
in  slumber.  But  he  knew  that  every  step  he  made  on  the 
earth  was  an  invitation  to  his- capture.  There  is  no  denying, 
a  hound's  snout  when  it  once  touches  a  trail.  What  would 
he  do  ?  He  could  no  longer  wade  in  the  stream.  He  dare 
not  walk  through  the  forest.  He  dare  not  take  the  canoe. 
The  land  and  the  water  were  conspired  ngainst  him. 


THE   TIDES  !    THE    TIDES  !  121 


CHAPTER   XIT. 


THE    TIDES  !    THE    TIDES  ! 


Immediately  before  Jupe,  where  he  plunged  in  the  water, 
a  log  projected  over  the  stream.  He  climbed  upon  this  to 
think.  Uneasily  he  crawled  out  under  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  trees  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  log  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  land.  It  was  a  huge  two-pronged  fork  held  over  the 
stream  by  the  superior  weight  of  the  end  that  lay  on  the  shore. 
As  he  neared  the  end  his  weight  destroyed  the  balance.  The 
outer  end  bowed  down  into  the  water  and  partly  slid  into  it. 
Then  a  new  idea  came  to  the  fugitive.  What  if  he  could  float 
on  it.  He  would  try.  He  hurried  up  the  log  to  the  shore. 
Jupiter  was  naturally  strong,  but  there  was  a  giant  power  in 
his  arm  that  night.  With  a  short  stick  which  he  found  and 
used  as  a  lever  the  two-pronged  fork  was  soon  in  the  stream. 
To  follow  and  lie  flat  upon  it  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment 
after.  The  prongs  of  the  fork  prevented  it  from  turning.  It 
was  his  ark  on  which  he  glided  down  with  the  swift  current. 
He  had  yet  other  difficulties.  To  guide  his  unwieldly  craft  to 
the  stream  bank  before  daylight  and  to  secure  it  afterwards 
for  a  new  night's  journey.  On  this  primitive  raft  .Jupe 
glided  into  the  Ockmulgee,  past  the  confluence  of  the  Oconee, 
into  the  broader  waters  of  the  Altamaha.  One  night  in  slak- 
ing his  thirst  he  discovered  a  brackish  taste  in  the  water.  At 
first  he  thought  only  of  its  bitterness.  Where  had  he  tasted 
the  like  before  ?  At  Princess  Anne.  '  He  almost  shouted  for 
joy.  He  understood  it  now.  Brackish  water  comes  from  the 
sea.  It  did  in  Princess  Anne.  An  old  face.  .  An  old  odor. 
An  old  taste.  An  old  fact.  How  they  do  bring  up  the 
legends  of  long  ago.  Old  memories  rioted  in  his  brain  that 
night. 


122  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Jupe  drifted  on  into  the  brackisli  water,  past  a  bend  in  the 
river  ;  then,  to  iiis  dismay  he  discovered  he  was  drifting  back 
again.  What  is  this  ?  Have  tlie  waters  conspired  to  suck 
him  back  into  bondage  ?  Is  flight,  and  endurance,  and  suffer- 
ing, and  contriving  fruitless  ?  All  the  horrors  from  which  he 
had  fled  rushed  throus^h  his  mind.  He  thouofht  of  the  cotton 
fields  ;  of  his  mother  from  wliose.arms  he  was  torn  ;  of  Prin- 
cess Anne  ;  of  his  old  Virginia  home.  "  Tiie  tide  !  The 
tide  !  "  Thinking  of  his  old  home  revealed  him  the  truth. 
The  sea  has  a  pulse.  That  is  the  tide.  And  this  pulse-beat  is 
felt  far  up  in  rivers  that  flow  into  the  sea.  It  was  this  incom- 
ing tide  that  was  bearing  the  fugitive  back.  He  had  forgotten 
lons"  ao^o.  Now  ajrain  he  remembered  the  ebb.  and  flood  of 
the  tide  along  the  beach  of  Cape  Henry.  He  paddled  to  the 
shore  and  plunged  into  his  memory  for  knowledge  of  the 
tides. 

Is  it  once  a  week  ?  Is  it  once  a  day  ?  At  Batsham,  in 
Tonquin,  there  is  but  one  tide  in  each  lunar  day,  and  twice  in 
each  month  when  the  moon  is  near  the  equinoctial,  there  is  no 
tide  at  all.  But  Jupe  did  not  know  that.  He  had  never  heard 
of  Batsham.  He  had  never  heard  the  tides  discussed.  He 
was  gleaning  his  information  from  what  he  had  seen.  Slowly 
out  of  the  past  there  arose  up  before  him  a  vision  of  a  schooner 
ashore  on  Cape  Henry.  That  was  long  ago.  It  went  ashore 
on  a  high  tide,  and  he  walked  to  it  when  the  tide  was  out. 
That  was  early  in  the  morning.  Then  the  tide  came  in  and 
went  out  again,  and  he  walked  out  to  the  schooner  in  the 
evening.  Impressive  events  burnish  memory.  This  event 
was  slowly  removing  the  mold  of  years.  A  fragment  of  the 
truth  had  dawned  on  him.  "  The  tide  is  twice  a  day,  and  it  is 
low  tide  early  in  the  morning  and  late  in  the  evening."  All 
discoverers  are  satisfied  with  the  perfection  of  their  lirst 
device.  It  is  only  testing  and  reasoning  that  leads  them 
beyond  it.  For  a  moment  Jupe  was  satisfied.  Then  it  occur- 
red to  him — the  tide  is  but  now  coming  in  and  it  is  long  past 
midnight.  He  was  testing  his  recollection.  "  It  can  not  be 
low  tide  every  morning  and  evening."  He  was  reasoning. 
When  a  man  reasons  with  facts  hid  in  his  brain  he  can  not 


THE    TIDES  !    THE    TIDES  !  123 

long  escape  the  truth.  If  Jupe  had  been  wiser  he  would 
have  known  that  the  tide  is  the  sea  rising  up  to  worship  the 
sun  and  the  moon — that  is  attraction.  But  it  is  more  a  moon 
worshiper  than  a  sun  worshiper.  Hence  it  follows  the  moon, 
and  if  it  were  not  for  the  attraction  of  the  earth  it  would  all  go 
up  to  the  moon.  It  rises  as  often  as  the  moon  passes  the 
meridian,  and  ebbs  as  often  as  it  passes  the  horizon.  Hence 
as  the  moon  passes  two  meridians,  east  and  west,  and  two 
horizons  in  a  day  there  are  two  high  and  two  low  tides  in 
a  day.  But  how  shall  we  tell  when  these  high  and  low  tides 
come  ?  There  is  no  uniform  law,  every  latitude  and  shore  is 
a  law  unto  itself.  Old  books  tell  us  to  look  for  low  tide  when 
the  rising  moon  is  one-quarter  way  up  the  heavens,  and  for 
high  tide  when  it  has  descended  half  way  from  the  zenith  to 
the  horizon.  That  rule  would  do  for  the  coast  of  France  and 
some  parts  of  England.  There  the  tide  chases  the  moon  about 
three  hours  behind.  The  sun's  attraction  curbs  and  holds  it 
that  much  back.  But  at  the  mouth  of  the  Altamaha,  near 
where  Jupe  was,  the  stern  chase  of  the  tide  is  a  long  one, 
there  it  follows  seven  and  a  half  hours  behind  the  moon,  and 
coming  on  at  the  rate  of  five  hundred  miles  an  hour.  Hence 
it  follows  when  the  full  or  new  moon  was  directly  over  the 
fugitive  the  tide  would  be  going  out,  and  would  continue 
ebbing  about  one  hour  and  ten  minutes,  then  it  would  flood  and 
would  be  at  its  highest  seven  and  a  half  hours  after  the  moon 
had  passed  the  meridian  and  about  four  hours  later  than  that 
it  would  be  high  tide  at  his  old  home  on  Cape  Henry.  So  the 
tide  swells  from  the  south  to  the  north.  But  this  tidal  pulsa- 
tion is  not  regular.  It  was  this  irregularity  that  puzzled  Jupi- 
ter. When  the  moon  is  new  or  full  the  intervals  between  the 
tides  is  but  twelve  hours  and  nineteen  minutes.  At  times  of 
the  moon's  quadrature  the  intervals  are  eleven  minutes 
greater.  Thus  the  tide  pulse  has  a  continued  flux  of  about 
six  hours,  then  rests  a  few  moments  and  retires  back  again. 
But  the  mystified  fugitive  did  not  know  this.  He  was  waiting 
for  moldy  facts  to  be  spun  from  his  memory.  The  fishing 
boats  at  his  old  Virginia  home  were  kept  in  a  creek  that  ran 
near  the  door.     At  low  tide  the  creek  was  dry,  yet  sometimes 


124  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

they  went  out  in  the  boats  early  in  the*  morning  ;  sometimes 
they  were  compelled  to  wait  until  late  in  the  morning,  and 
sometimes  until  nearly  noon.  Remembering  these  things  he 
reached  this  conclusion — there  are  two  tides  a  day  ;  they  are 
changeable.  He  saw  the  tide  flooding  before  him  ;  when 
would  it  go  out  ?  Crouched  there  by  the  brink,  concealed  in 
tiie  dense  underbrush,  he  cast  leaves  and  dry  twigs  into  the 
water  and  watched  their  course.  At  last  he  learned,  as  all 
men  will  who  try  to  know.  Now  he  could  travel  but  part  of 
each  night — the  part  during  which  the  tide  was  running  out  to 
the  se 

After  many  days  he  drifted  into  an  open  sound — the  Alta- 
maha.  From  out  the  light  mist  that  lay  upon  the  waters, 
there  sprang  a  dark  body  and  tall  spars.  It  was  years  and 
years  since  Jupiter  had  seen  the  like,  but  he  knew  it  at  once. 
It  was  a  vessel.  He  could  have  hailed  it,  so  near  was  he  to 
it.  He  had  fled.  He  had  walked  ankle  deep,  knee  deep, 
waist  deep  in  watei.  He  had  floated  on  a  log  weary  nights 
despairing,  yet  hoping  for  this.  His  food  was  exhausted.  He 
was  consuming  with  thirst.  The  refuge  for  which  he  had 
started,  for  which  he  had  endured  all,  was  there  within  hail, 
and  he  dare  not  raise  his  voice. 

Men  march  to  the  battle-field  with  a  song,  then  come 
doubt  and  trembling.  Men  prepare  for  great  occasions,  and 
when  they  arrive,  fear  withholds  the  efl"ort  that  might  make 
success.  They  estimate  everything  except  their  courage  at 
the  supreme  moment. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  hope  of  freedom  entered  his 
soul  he  thought,  "  freedom  is  only  slave's  rumor  ;  what  if  it 
is  not  true?"  Going  to  the  vessel  he  would  go  into  the 
arms  of  white  men.  All  the  wiiite  men  he  knew  were  slave 
owners  or  slave  hunters.  In  all  his  limited  knowledge  of  men 
there  was  nothing  to  justify  him  in  believing  there,  were  any 
white  men  who  were  not  foes  to  the  negro. 

A  vision  of  a  return  in  chains  and  a  whipping-post  arose 
up  before  him.  He  trembled.  He  groaned  in  spirit.  He 
wished  he  had  not  fled.  "Oh,  if  he  were  only  back  again." 
To  add  to  his  terrors,  the  day  was  breaking  and  he  was  pow- 


HE   DRIFTED   INTO   THE    OPEN  SOUND. 
125 


127 

erl€ss.  In  the  short  chopping  sea  of  the  sound  his  paddle 
was  useless.  It  required  all  his  efforts  to  prevent  being  swept 
into  the  waters  of  the  bay.  When  the  light  of  the  new  morn- 
incr  came  into  the  sky  an  officer  from  the  quarter-deck  of  the 
"Unadilla"  swept  the  horizon  and  then  the  waters  of  the 
sound  with  his  glass.  He  saw  the  log  ;  then  the  man  cling- 
ino-  to  it.  He  ordered  away  a  boat.  Soon  Jupiter  was  in  it. 
Soon  after  he  stood  on  the  quarter-deck,  a  trembling  and  des- 
pairing criminal. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"Doan  know,  mawsa." 

"  Don't  know  where  you  came  from  ?" 

"  No,  mawsa." 

"  Which  way  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Doan  know,  mawsa." 

"  I  found  you  yonder  in  the  bay." 

"  Yaas,  mawsa." 

"  And  you  don't  know  how  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  No,  mawsa." 

Catechising  was  useless,  and  it  was  abandoned.  There 
were  other  colored  people  on  the  boat.  Jupiter  was  sent  to 
mino-le  with  them.  The  commander  knew  that  the  free- 
masonry of  a  common  misfortune  would  draw  out  information 
sealed  against  white  inquisition.  Jupiter  and  the  other  es- 
caped contrabands  came  together  like  drops  of  water,  with  a 
perfect  commingling.  He  could  trust  a  black  man.  From 
them  he  concealed  nothing.  The  other  colored  men  gave 
back  to  him  all  they  knew  ;  their  experience  of  freedom  and 
their  causes  for  confidence  in  the  blue-coats.  He  heard  them 
and  the  doubt  fled  from  his  eyes,  the  pressure  was  lifted  from 
his  heart  ;  content  grew  up  in  him.  That  night  he  listened  to 
plantation  .stories  and  laughed.  The  next  night  he  reached 
the  point  where  he  could  tell  his  colored  friends  of  his  own 
flight  and  the  amazement  of  his  master  at  not  finding  him. 
"  Dat  Jupe,  wha  de  debii  him  gwan.  Him  say  dat."  Then  he 
laughed  uproariously.  "  Guy,  oh  !  de  Law  !  Law  !  Law  ! 
Woan  him  eye  snap  ?     Guy  !     Hi  !     Hi  ! " 

The  next  day  the  commander  noticed  Jupiter  near  the  quar- 
9 


128  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

ter-deck.  The  commander  was  an  observant  man.  He  had 
seen  many  fugitive  contrabands  before,  he  knew  the  effect  of 
a  few  days'  mingling  with  their  own  race,  and  knew  how  it 
oiled  tongues  and  refreshed  memories.  The  commander  asked 
him  : 

"  My  man,  what's  your  name  ?" 

"  Nawme  Jupe,  mawsa  !  "     He  could  talk. 

"  Jupiter  ?  " 

"  Reckon  y'am,  mawsa  !  " 

"  Who  was  your  master  ?  "  This  was  touching  on  danger- 
ous ground.  The  scared  look  again  began  to  cloud  Jupiter's 
face.  He  hesitated  an  instant  ;  then  he  thought  of  the  col- 
ored men  for'ad,  and  answered: 

"  Maws  Bob  Sawtiah,  mawsa  !  " 

"  Sawtiah  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  mawsa  !  " 

"  Or  is  it  Saltire  ?  "  . 

"  Yaas,  mawsa.     Dat  same,  mawsa  !  " 

"  Then  your  name  is  Jupiter  Saltire." 

"  Reckon  y'am,  mawsa  !  " 

"Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Saw1?iah  place,  mawsa." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  " 

"  Moas  t'end  de  woal,  mawsa  !  " 

To  the  ignorant  the  vast  is  very  small. 

"  What  county  is  it  in  ?  " 

"  D'no  um  county,  mawsa." 

'*  What  state  is  it  in  ?" 

"  D'no  um  state,  mawsa." 

"  Is  it  in  Florida  ?  " 

"Nebbah  done  hear  dat  place,  mawsa." 

"Is  it  in  Georgia  ?" 

"  Dat's  it  mawsa.     Sawtin  !  Sawtin  !  " 

"  Georgia  ?  " 

"Sawtin,  mawsa!  Sawtiah  place.  Jawja  fo'  sawtin, 
mawsa." 

The  officer  drew  a  memorandum  book  from  his  pocket  to 
enter    the    name.     "What    for?     Why    write    about   him?" 


THE    TIDES  !    THE    TIDES  !  129 

Jupiter  did  not  know.  The  act  startled  him.  There  was  so 
many  reasons  why  he  should  distrust  the  white  man.  There 
was  a  horrible  clanking  of  chains  in  his  soul.  A  blood  stained 
whipping-post  rose  up  before  his  eyes.  The  officer  noticed 
his  uneasiness. 

"  Are  you  alarmed  at  my  writing  your  name." 

Jupiter  did  not  understand  and  was  silent. 

"  I  do  this  for  the  purpose  of  reporting  to  my  superior 
officer." 

Still  Jupiter  did  not  comprehend.  He  trembled  with  agi- 
tation. The  kind-hearted  officer  pitied  him  and  sought  to 
allay  his  fears." 

"  This  will  help  secure  your  freedom." 

It  was  not  exactly  true,  but  Jupiter  could  understand  it. 

The  trembling  ceased. 

The  bowed  form  straightened  up. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  of  your  master  in  the  future,  he  is 
done  with  you,  now  and  forever.'' 

Jupiter's  eyes  began  to  grow. 

"  You  are  a  free  man  now." 

Jupiter  looked  up  and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"As  free,  my  poor  friend,"  continued  the  officer,  "as 
I  am." 

The  heavens  were  aflame. 

It  was  an  angel  of  light,  a  Providence  that  stood  before 
him  filling  his  ears  with  a  seraphic  music  he  never  expected  to 
hear  from  a  white  man  on  earth. 

Tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Free  !      Free  !      Bress  de   Lawd  !      Bress   de  Lawd  !  " 

He  bowed  his  face  down  to  the  deck  and  pressed  his  lips 
to  the  officer's  feet. 


130  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOUXS. 


CHAPTER  xni. 


THE  CONFEDERATE    DESERTER. 


Jupiter  Saltire  ran  away  on  his  master's  legs.  He  was  at 
Hilton  Head,  about  him  was  a  uniformed  multitude,  more 
people  than  he  had  ever  seen,  more  than  he  believed  there 
was  on  earth.  He  stared  in  wonder  at  the  parades,  the  rush 
of  horses  and  the  tramp  of  men.  He  sat  on  the  bluff  skirting 
tlie  shore,  watching  the  tides  ebbing,  flowing  and  rippling  on 
the  beach.  He  was  free  and  his  first  use  of  freedom  was  to 
lounge,  gape  and  eat.  He  had  planned  a  battle,  a  struggle 
for  freedom,  and  he  won.  What  would  he  do  with  his  vic- 
tory ?  He  had  never  thought  of  that  and  he  did  nothing. 
His  mind  had  worked  out  a  purpose  and  rested.  As  a  slave  it 
was  not  labor  that  galled  him  ;  it  was  not  labor  from  which 
he  fled.  It  was  mastership,  and  as  a  freeman  he  was  idle, 
not  because  he  was  lazy,  not  because  he  hated  labor,  not 
because  he  believed  that  indolence  and  freedom  were  synony- 
mous, but  because  he  did  not  think  at  all,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  direct  him.  Sittinsc  on  the  beach  listeninsr  to  the  soft 
beating  of  waters  on  the  shifting  sands,  watching  the  black 
wall  of  fog  marching  over  the  bar  into  the  bay,  he  thought  of 
his  old  home  and  liis  wife.  When  would  he  see  her  again  and 
how,  and  "  where  will  we  go,"  "  where  will  we  live,"  and 
"  how  live."  Affection  plows  and  harrows,  suggests  and  ener- 
gizes. Jupiter's  rude  affection  for  Mansa  was  harrowing  his 
brain,  seeding  him  with  manhood.  He  had  nothing.  He 
lived  on  charity.  Some  one  fed  him,  he  did  not  know  who. 
Otiier  colored  people  had  money.  They  earned  it.  Win- 
should  not  he.  It  was  long  and  laborious  reasoning.  Affec- 
tion had  seized  the  reins.  When  the  fog  had  mounted  the 
bay,  and  thrown  its  pall  over  the  tall  spars  and  great  hulls 


HE    CONFEDERATE    DESERTER.  131 

that  swung  in  the  swift  tide,  Jupiter  had  reached  this  point. 
"  How?  "  That  night  he  asked,  "  Where  do  the  colored  people 
get  money?  "  "  Work  for  the  quartermaster."  The  next  morn- 
ing Jupiter  applied  to  the  quartermaster.  "  Work  ?"  "Yes." 
Jupiter  began  labor  as  a  freeman.  Soon  after  there  was  a 
rumor,  "Colored  men  were  to  be  armed."  Jupiter  pricked 
up  his  ears.  A  little  later  a  soldier  approached  him.  He 
had  a  book  and  pencil  in  his  hand. 

*'  Do  you  think  you  could  carry  a  musket  ?  " 

"  Could  dat,  boss  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  ?  " 

"  Deed  den,  I  would,  sah  !  " 

"  Will  I  put  your  name  down  ?" 

"Fo'  sojah  ?" 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  Deed  yo'  kin  dat  !  " 

"  You  will  be  paid  as  a  laborer  in  the  quartermaster's 
department." 

"  Yaas,  sah." 

"The  government  has  not  yet  reached  the  point  of  accept- 
ing the  services  of  colored  men  as  soldiers." 

"  Why  dat,  boss  ?  " 

"Afraid  of  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  The 
government  fears  it  would  lose  many  of  its  supporters  if  arms 
should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  negroes." 

"  If  a  niggah  kill  a  sesher  woan  he  go  dead  sho  as  ef  a 
white  man  done  kill  'im  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  will.     But  the  prejudice  is  there." 

"  Yaas,  boss  !  " 

"And  some  people  think  a  regiment  of  contrabands  would 
lope  like  deer  before  a  Southern  man  with  a  whip  in  his  hand." 

"  Dey  fool  deysef  sho  !  " 

"  You  think  the  contrabands  will  fight  ?  " 

"  Sawtin,  sah  !  " 

"  Many  of  our  soldiers  here  say  the  negroes  will  not  stand 
under  a  pattering  of  bullets." 

"  Ef  niggahs  kin  stan  de  lash  and  de  houns,  an  de  turn 
screw  an  de  ine  coUah,  reckon  dey  stan  a  lee'le  lead." 


132  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"You  think  so." 

"  Laws,  boss  ;  a  chunk  o'  lead  in  de  innards  ain't  nuffiii  ter 
a  hunder  laid  on  wid  hickry,  an  brine  rub  in  de  soahs." 

"  And  you  will  go  ?  " 

"  Sawtin,  boss,  sawtin  !  an  tank  de  Lawd  fo'  de  chance, 
sah.     I'ze  got  a  woman  dah  !  " 

Jupiter's  name  was  enrolled.  He  was  a  soldier  in  tlie  first 
colored  company  organized  during  the  war.  Ten  days  later 
Jupiter  was  on  the  "  Darlirigton,"  bound  south,  in  search  of  a 
fight  along  the  coast.  It  was  found  at  St.  Mary's,  in  Florida. 
North  of  St.  Mary's  the  Confederates  had  erected  extensive 
salt  works.  The  object  of  the  expedition  was  to  destro}'  the 
works.  War  is  a  compound — pounding  and  starving.  To  cut 
off  the  salt  supply  was  to  help  starve.  The  colored  troops 
landed.  The  enemy  lied.  The  blacks  followed  through  the 
dense  woods.  The  Confederates  made  a  stand.  Their  rifles 
flashed  in  the  faces  of  tlieir  pursuers.  The  colored  troops 
dashed  on  ;  the  Confederates  in  dismay  fled  again.  The  salt 
works  were  captured  and  destroyed.  When  the  pickets  were 
called  in  Jupiter  made  no  response.  They  sought  for  him. 
They  found  him,  his  back  set  against  a  tree,  his  feet  braced 
apart,  the  barrel  of  his  musket  grasped  firmly  in  his  right  hand, 
but  he  was  voiceless  and  helpless.  They  carried  him  to  the 
boat,  a  stream  of  blood  flowing  from  his  breast  and  oozing 
from  his  lips.  He  was  shot  through  the  lungs.  Jupiter's 
wounds  was  severe,  his  recovery  tedious.  At  length  he  was 
well.  Then  the  commandant  at  Fernandina  desired  informa- 
tion. Jupiter  volunteered  as  scout.  Three  times  he  pene- 
trated Georgia  and  Florida,  bringing  back  valuable  military 
gleanings.  The  third  time  his  boat  was  swamped  in  Cumber- 
land Sound,  two  escaping  contrabands  who  were  with  iiim 
were  drowned,  and  Jupiter  had  a  narrow  escape.  These 
experiences  made  their  impress  on  .Tupiter.  He  was  growing. 
In  the  summer  of  18G3  he  resolved  to  penetrate  Georgia  to 
his  old  home  and  deliver  Mansa.  He  was  a  favorite  with  the 
commandant  of  the  post.  The  officer  aided  him.  A  ligiit 
duck-boat  and  passage  on  a  steamer  to  Altamaha  Sound  were 
furnished  him.     Jupiter  needed  no  more.     It  was  weary  and 


THE    CONFEDERATE    DESERTER.  133 

wary  journeying.  Pickets  on  the  Altamaha.  Scouts,  spies  and 
hounds  everywhere.  But  Jupiter  eluded  them  all.  Conceal- 
ing his  boat  when  he  reached  shoal  water,  he  pressed  on  to  the 
old  plantation  and  over  the  hills  to  the  home  of  his  wife.  She 
was  gone.  Mrs.  Miranda  Wither  was  dead,  and  Mansa — was 
sold. 

"  Who  bougnt  her  ?  "  "  Marmaduke  Titefist !"  "  Where  ?" 
"  Obah  at  Andasonville."  "  Where's  that  ?  "  No  one  knew. 
*'How  far?  "  No  one  could  say.  Slaves  had  no  idea  of  distances. 
"  Which  direction?"  No  one  could  tell  that,  whether  north, 
south,  east  or  west,  it  was  a  "  lang  way."  The  slaves  were 
glad  to  see  Jupiter.  They  would  have  been  glad  to  help  him. 
But  ignorance  is  a  soundless  pit.  They  could  do  nothing  but 
look  on  him,  a  hero  who  had  escaped  and  returned — and  drink 
his  tales  into  their  wondering  souls.  Jupiter  remained  a  week 
about  his  old  home,  hoping  that  some  of  the  slaves  would  be 
able  to  learn  "  where  is  Andersonville." 

It  was  a  vain  hojDC.  Fear  of  betrayal  he  had  none.  He 
knew  that  any  slave  in  that  region  would  have  died  before  be- 
traying him.  So  he  came  and  stayed,  his  presence  unsuspect- 
ed by  the  whites,  then  he  turned  his  sad  face  toward  the 
coast.  One  night  resting  on  the  banks  of  the  Ockmulgee, 
waiting  for  the  moon  to  disappear,  he  heard  voices.  He  stole 
out  from  his  hiding  and  looked.  Not  fifty  yards  away  from 
him  was  a  camp  fire.  Three  men  were  sitting  about  it,  cook- 
ing. Beyond  the  fire  Jupiter  saw  a  fourth.  Then  he  noticed' 
the  fourth  was  bound  to  a  sapling  and  that  his  hands  were 
tied.  This  set  Jupiter  to  thinkino-.  Who  is  the  fourth?  An 
escaped  Union  soldier?  The  man  wore  a  uniform.  It  was 
not  blue.  But  he  had  seen  no  prisoners,  and  he  did  not  know 
but  that  prisoners  were  probably  clothed  that  way.  Yes,  it 
must  be  a  Union  soldier  escaped  from  prison,  else  why  should 
they  capture  and  guard  and  bind  him?  For  a  long  time 
Jupiter  watched  them,  wondering  if  there  were  any  more.  He 
crawled  stealthily  toward  them.  There  were  but  three  and 
the  prisoner.  He  could  hear  them  distinctly.  After  supper 
and  rest  they  would  move  on.  Such  was  their  purpose  as 
Jupiter  gleaned   it   from    their  conversation.     Their   evening 


134  BRISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

meal  was  devoured.  Tlie  captors  ate.  The  prisoner  hun- 
gered. Then  the  captors  liglited  their  pipes,  and  Jupiter  lay 
extended  at  full  length  in  the  tangled  web  of  forest  grass, 
watching,  listening  and  thinking.  The  moon  had  already  dis- 
appeared. The-duck  boat  would  hold  two.  One  of  the  cap- 
tors stood  up. 

"Let's  git,"  he  exclaimed. 

Jupiter  was  not  twenty  feet  away.  A  revolver  was  cocked 
in  his  hand.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  rushed  at  the  group  and 
fired.  The  man  who  had  spoken  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell. 
A  second  man  was  on  his  feet  with  rifle  raised.  Jupiter  fired 
again.  The  revolver  ball  crashed  through  the  hand  uphold- 
ing the  rifle.  The  rifle  fell,  and  discharged  as  it  reached  the 
ofround.  Its  holder  fled.  There  was  but  the  third  man  and 
the  prisoner.  The  third  man  was  unarmed  ;  his  gun  was  rest- 
ing against  a  tree  beyond  his  reach.  Seeing  Jupiter  and 
alone  he  rushed  upon  him.  Jupiter's  pistol  refused  to  revolve. 
It  was  man  against  man.  The  escaped  slave  and  the  brawny 
white  were  locked  in  deadly  embrace.  For  an  instant  there 
was  a  writhing  and   interlocking  of  strong  limbs.     The  white 

cursed  the  " niggah;"  "eat  him  up;"  "skin  him  alive." 

The  black  was  silent.  The  white  man's  jaws  were  against  the 
side  of  .lupiter's  head.  The  jaws  open.  Jupiter's  ear  disap- 
peared in  the  cavern.  The  strong  teeth  closed  upon  it.  Ju- 
piter's right  hand  was  disengaged.  It  still  clasped  the  butt 
of  the  revolver.  The  hand  raised,  came  down  with  a  thud 
upon  the  head  of  the  white.  The  jaws  relaxed.  Again  the 
pistol  rose  and  fell.     The  white  dropped  upon  his  knees. 

"  Spar  me  !         Spar  me  !  " 

The  third  time  the  heavy  iron  of  the  pistol  rose  and  with 
remorseless  energy  fell  upon  the  bare  head.  There  was  a  dull 
mashing  of  flesh,  a  hollow  crunching  of  bones,  a  sputtering  of 
blood  clots,  and  the  white  man  lay  with  his  sightless  eyes 
turned  up  to  the  sombre  sky.  For  Jupiter  to  draw  his  knife, 
cut  the  leashes  of  the  prisoner,  and  rush  away  Avith  him  to  the 
river  bank  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant.  The  boat  was 
drawn  from  its  hiding,  Jupiter  and  the  prisoner  were  in  it. 
They  had  glided  down  the  bank  fifty  yards  under  the   shadow 


THE    CONFEDERATE    DESERTER.  135 

of  the  trees.  Then  a  little  spark  flamed  out  of  a  bush.  An  in- 
stant after  a  sharp  report  echoed  through  the  forest,  followed 
by  a  scream,  "  Ther's  even  ! "  and  all  was  still.  Jupiter 
pulled  the  boat  steadily  away  from  the  shore  until  it  was  lost 
.in  the  gloom  of  mid-stream.  Then  he  gave  the  paddle  to  the 
rescued  man  and  placed  his  hands  upon  his  side.  Immedi- 
ately they  were  warm  and  moist.  When  he  heard  the  shot 
he  felt  a  slight  sensation  like  the  pricking  of  a  pin,  or  the 
sudden  touch  of  an  icy  point  agaiast  his  side.  Now  he  knew 
he  was  shot.  The  man  who  escaped  had  concealed  himself 
under  a  bush  by  the  river  and  punctured  him  with  a  pistol 
ball.  Jupiter  felt  no  present  pain,  but  the  flow  of  blood  con- 
tinued. Would  it  continue  ?  Was  this  the  end  ?  A  year  of 
freedom  had  given  Jupiter  forethought.  He  gave  the  fugitive 
directions.  Concealment  in  bushes.  Journey  dark  nights  ; 
middle  of  the  stream  ;  on  to  the  broad  water.  The  warm  red 
stream  was  welling  from  his  side.  Jupiter  lay  down  in  the 
boat. 

"  Membah  dat,  dead  o'  alibe,  you  takes  me." 

"  Yaas." 

"  Is  you  Union  sojah  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  What  den  ?  " 

*'  Confed,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"  Sojah  ?  " 

"  Yaas  ! " 

"  What  yer  prisnah  fo'  ?  " 

"  D'zartah,  reckon  !  " 

When  the  duck-boat  reached  the  sound  and  Jupiter  and 
the  fugitive  were  picked  up  by  a  gunboat,  the  fugitive  was 
nearly  starved  and  Jupiter's  life  was  suspended  on  a  slender 
thread.  But  Jupiter  was  saved  from  the  jaws  of  secession  and 
with  him  Lindey's  husband,  the  Confederate  deserter,  Joe 
Ratley. 


136  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"he  stood  before  me  axd  called." 

In  the  spring  of  18G4  a  "  blockader,"  on  the  way  from 
Fortress  Monroe  to  Fernandina,  picked  up  a  boat  off  the 
coast  of  North  Carolina.  The  boat  contained  six  fugitive 
slaves  and  a  Union  soldier.  The  soldier  had  been  a  prisoner 
of  war,  confined  in  Salisbury.  He  had  escaped.  Pushed  for 
the  coast.  Slept  in  trees,  jungles  and  marshes.  He  hungered 
and  thirsted.  Barefooted,  ragged,  emaciated,  fevered,  covered 
with  sores,  he  reached  a  tide-water  stream.  Slaves  aided  him  ; 
secured  a  boat  for  him,  and  fled  with  him,  out  through  the 
fog,  without  chart  or  compass,  into  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
ocean.  The  sea  was  more  merciful  than  secession,  it  tossed 
the  soldier  and  his  aids  into  the  arms  of  a  blockader,  and  he 
was  carried  to  Fernandina.  He  was  a  battered  and  shattered 
hulk.  He  sadly  needed  repairs.  They  put  him  in  that  human 
dry  dock — the  hospital.  Surgeon  Munson  had  witnessed 
misery  and  suffering.  With  gashing,  cutting,  pustulation  and 
pain  he  was  familiar.  Here  was  something  new,  a  strong  hu- 
man form  passed  through  the  slow  devouring  of  hunger; 
ground  to  a  skeleton;  and  worn  to  the  last  stage  of  feebleness. 
It  was  a  pitiful  sight.  A  painful  sound  was  in  his  appeal,  "A 
little  more,  doctor,  I'm  so  hungry.  Oh  !  I  was  so  hungry, 
then,  so  hungry.  I  will  always  be  hungry,  doctor,  always  be 
hungry  !  "  The  doctor  told  his  wife  and  told  his  widowed 
sister-in-law.  Suffering  Kate  Huntley  listened  to  the  story 
with  profound  agitation. 

"  Poor  fellow  !     Can  I  do  anything  for  him  ?  " 
To  Surgeon  Munson  it  was   a  suggestive  question.     Since 
the  fateful   news  from   Chickamauga  Mrs.  Kate  Huntley  sur- 
rendered interest  in  life.     She  loved  Sero^eant  Halmer  Hunt- 


137 

ley  deeply,  devotedly.  They  had  been  children  together — 
lovers  as  far  back  as  they  could  remember.  She  had  launched 
all  her  hopes  and  thoughts  of  life  in  him.  When  he  fell  she 
was  bankrupt  in  affection  and  in  all  life  interest.  If  she  would 
only  have  wept  and  moaned  the  surgeon  and  his  wife  could 
have  comforted  her  ;  they  could  have  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  the  stream  would  be  exhausted.  But  she  did 
neither.  She  sank  into  imperturbable  apathy.  It  was  a 
paralysis  of  emotions  more  pathetic  than  any  prodigality  of 
tears  and  exclamations.  For  months  this  bereaved  woman, 
with  the  flower-crowned  monument  in  her  heart,  had  moved 
on,  calm,  silent  and  listless,  the  roses  dropping  from  her 
cheeks  and  the  sparkle  slowly  fading  from  her  eyes.  She  was 
grievous  to  look  on.  Now  for  the  first  time  she  was  touched. 
A  sufi'ering  penetrated  the  fountain  and  she  wept,  not  for  her- 
self but  for  the  misery  of  another.  The  cruel,  barbarous 
wickedness  that  denied  helpless  prisoners  food  aroused  her 
indignation. 

Surgeon  Munson  quickly  caught  up  Kitty  Huntley's  sug- 
gestion. "  Here  is  something,"  he  thought.  "  The  salve  of 
another's  suffering.  Who  can  tell  its  potency?"  Then  he 
said  aloud  — 

"  My  dear,  he  needs  a  nurse  sadly." 

"May  I  nurse  him  ?"  said  Kate,  eagerly  Mrs.  Munson's 
eyes  were  moist.  How  glad  she  was  to  hear  the  eager  ring 
come  again  into  sister  Kate's  voice.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
saying,  "  Kate,  it  will  do  you  good  ;  "  but  happily  she  noticed 
that  her  husband  said  nothing  about  Kate,  and  its  possible 
good  to  her,  and  she  refrained.  Kate  was  not  thinking  of  her- 
self, she  was  only  thinking  "  Poor  fellow,  he's  somebody's 
husband,  somebody's  lover,  somebody's  son  ;  and  so  worn  and 
thin  and  hungry  ;  and  the  dreadful,  dreadful,  cruel  war 
brought  him  to  this." 

Surgeon  Munson  was  heartily  glad  that  she  offered  her 
services.  It  was  good  of  Kate,  and  he  knew  it  would  do  her 
good.  "  Come  Kate,"  he  said,  "  If  you  will  be  so  good,  come 
to  him.     He   needs   soft    words  and   tenderness    and    watch- 


138  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  Oh,  then,  let  ine  go  at  once." 

"Certainly,  if  you  will." 

"  Oh,  Jolin,  how  can  you  ask  that  ?  " 

In  less  tlian  five  minutes  she  was  preparer!  "Bncl  went  away 
with  her  brother-in-law  to  the  hospital.  Day  after  day  she 
remained  with  her  patient,  from  early  in  the  morning  until  he 
passed  into  fitful  slumber  at  night.  He  was  so  feeble.  She 
moistened  his  lips  ;  she  softened  the  bed  and  turned  and  re- 
turned tlie  pillows  ;  she  fanned  him  ;  she  kept  him  cool  and 
comfortable  ;  his  eyes  followed  her,  she  was  so  tender  and  lier 
touch  it  was  so  gentle  ;  she  read  to  him — how  sweet  her  voice 
sounded.  One  day  he  said  to  her  "  will  you  kiss  me  here  ?" 
and  he  laid  his  attenuated  finger  on  his  hollow  cheek.  "  Dear 
old  mother  kissed  me  there  when — I — went  — a- way — to — the 
— war." 

She  pressed  her  lips  to  liis  worn  cheeks,  and  her  tears 
dropped  down  and  baptised  the  spot. 

"  Dear — old — mother." 

A  smile  wreathed  his  lips.  His  eyes  slowly  closed  and  he 
dropped  into  a  soft,  peaceful  slumber.  The  next  day  Mrs. 
Huntley  knew  her  patient  had  turned  the  corner.  Then  she 
sang  to  him.     A  little  ballad. 

The  soldier  listened  and  murmured  "  poor  puss  cat." 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Huntley  sang  the  same  ballad,  and 
again  the  patient  murmured  "poor  puss  cat." 

Mrs.  Huntley  looked  at  him.  He  had  said  the  same  yes- 
terday. .  Was  there  anything  the  matter  with  the  man''s  mind? 
He  talked  and  acted  rationally.  Why  should  he  repeat  "poor 
puss  cat "  to  that  song? 

The  third  day  the  song  was  repeated  and  again  the  patient 
murmured  "  poor  puss  cat." 

Mrs.  Huntley  was  perplexed.  After  a  moment's  pause  she 
asked,  "  Why  do  you  say  '  |)oor  puss  cat  ?'  " 

"Because  that  song  reminds  me  of  '])o<)r  puss  cat.'  " 

"  What  is  there  about  the  song  to  remind  }'ou  of  a  cat  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  a  cat ! " 

"Not  a  cat?" 

"  No,  a  man." 


139 

"  Oh,  a  man." 

"Yes,  at  Salisbury." 

"  Indeed.     A  Union  soldier?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  What  was  his  name?" 

"  Puss  Cat." 

«A  man?" 

"Yes!" 

"  And  named  Puss  Cat?  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  Why,  what  a  funny  name  for  a  man.  x\nd  was  that  his 
real  name?  " 

"  I  don't  know 

"  Oh  !  " 

The  riddle  was  deepening. 

"  He  was  in  Salisbury  when  I  was  captured." 

"Where  did  he  belong?  " 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know,  nor  did  any  one  there." 

"  That  is  singular.     Would  he  not  tell?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  knew." 

"  Not  know  where  he  came  from?  " 

"  Well  you  see  he  was  not  exactly  right." 

"  Not  right?     How  do  you  mean." 

"  Not  exactly  right  in  his  mind." 

"  Oh,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  Poor  fellow.  I  found  him  there  alone  and  chummed  to 
him." 

"That  was  good  of  you." 

"Well,  you  see,  he  couldn't  take  of  himself  and  he  had 
no  one  take  care  of  him.  Poor  boys  !  when  hunger's  on 
them,  they  get  awful  selfish.  You  can't  blame  them.  It's  a 
terrible  sensation,  hunger  is.  It  just  grinds  humanity  out  of 
a  man." 

"  Poor  boys." 

"  Yes,  a  fellow  may  feel,  '  well  I'll  give  a  bit  to  another 
fellow  hungrier  than  I ;  '  but  when  the  bit  comes  into  your 
hand,  your  mouth  lays  right  hold  of  it.  I  tell  you  hunger 
just  burns  the  heart  out  of  a  man." 


1-40  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  Poor  hungry  boys.     And  Puss  Cat  ?  " 

"Poor  Puss  was  going  down,  down,  every  day." 

*'  Poor  fellow.     Poor  fellow  !  " 

"  Yes  !  Poor  fellow  !  And  he  never  said  a  word  only 
'Kit!  Kit!  Kit!'" 

"  Kit  ! " 

"Yes,  Kit;  only  that  and  sing  that  same  song  you  sang 
yesterday  and  to-day." 

"  Kit  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  and  the  song.  That  was  all  I  ever  heard  him 
say,  and  I  slept  with  him  and  took  care  of  him,  drew  his  rations 
and  cooked  for  him.  I'd  have  brought  him  with  me,  or 
stayed,  only  they  sent  him  away  with  others  to  Andersonville." 

"  It  was  good  of  you." 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  he  was  somebody's  son." 

'*  Perhaps  they  called  him  Puss  Cat,  because  he  was  always 
repeating  '  Kit  !  Kit !  Kit  !'" 

"  Yes.  I  often  thought  that.  But  I  learned  he  was 
enrolled  under  that  name,  and  that  no  one  knew  any  other  for 
him." 

"  And  this  poor  boy  without  mind  was  sent  away  to  Ander- 
sonville." 

u  Yes  I .. 

"  It  was  cruel  ;  dreadfully  cruel." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  you  don't  know  the  rebellion.  Its 
soldiers  are  brave.  Many  of  them  are  noble,  generous  and 
humane  adversaries,  but  many  of  its  home  emissaries  are 
inexorably  marble-hearted,  brutal  and  malevolent." 

*.'  You  are  very  severe  ! " 

"  I  have  writhed  in  their  clutch.  I  have  seen  their  stony 
eyes  glaring  in  triumph  over  our  sufferings." 

"  Poor  sufiferer." 

"  And  I  am  penetrated  with  its  rancor  when  I  think  of 
poor  Puss  Cat,  helpless  and  shorn  of  his  mind,  condemned  to 
the  misery  of  Andersonville  prison  pen." 

That  night  piercing  screams  disturbed  the  quiet  of  Sur- 
geon Munson's  quarters.  He  was  aroused  from  slumber.  The 
screams  continued.     He  sprang  from  bed.     His  agitated  wife 


'*  HE    STOOD    BEFORE    ME    AND    CALLED."  141 

followed.  The  screams  intensified.  They  guided  the  surgeon 
and  his  wife  to  Mrs.  Huntley's  room.  Hurriedly  they  opened 
the  door  and  entered.  A  full  flood  of  moonlight  illuminated 
the  apartment.  Mrs.  Huntley  was  in  bed,  lying  at  full  length, 
her  eyes  wide  open,  her  arms  outstretched  and  fingers  dis- 
tended.    The  cries  continued. 

"  Puss  Cat  !     Puss  Cat !  Hal  !  Hal  ! " 

Surgeon  Munson  spoke — ''  Kitty  !  " 

♦'  Puss  Cat  !     Puss  Cat ! " 

"  Kate  !  " 

"Hal!     Hal!" 

The  surgeon's  agitated  wife  called  to  her  sister.  The 
only  answer  was  : 

"  Puss  Cat  !     Puss  Cat  !     Hal  !     Hal  ! 

Surgeon  Munson  advanced  to  the  bedside  and  took  hold  of 
her  arms.  They  were  rigid  as  bars  of  steel.  He  was  power- 
less to  move  them.  His  wife  moved  to  join  him.  He  motioned 
her  back  and  himself  stepped  away  from  the  side  of  the  bed. 
"  Let  her  alone  for  a  few  moments.  She  is  in  a  trance  condi- 
tion,— a  sort  of  magnetic  sleep."  The  screams  gradually  died 
down  to  a  wail.  Then  the  arms  suddenly  drew  back  under 
the  covers.  The  head  nestled  down  in  the  pillows.  The 
wailino-  subsided  into  sobbinor.  Fainter.  Then  fainter. 
Then  ceased.  Quiet,  reigned  again  in  the  house.  Surgeon 
Munson  and  his  wife  sat  nearly  an  hour  by  the  bedside,  then 
seeing  that  Kate  had  fallen  into  soft  and  dreamless  slumber 
they  retired.  Both  were  profoundly  agitated  and  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  the  phenomenal  occurrence.  Each  had  the  same 
fears.  "  Mental  disease."  But  neither  spoke  of  it.  The 
next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table  both  watched  Kate  anx- 
iously and  narrowly.  If  changed  at  all,  it  was  apparently  for 
the  better.  Both  seemed  to  detect  a  new  sprightliness  in  her 
voice.  A  fresher  tinge  on  her  cheek.  They  would  have  put 
away  the  night  terror  entirely  but  for  the  frequent  pauses 
Kate  made  in  her  breakfast,  and  the  puzzled,  far-away  look 
that  came  into  her  eyes.  After  breakfast  Kate  walked  to 
the  window,  looked  out  upon  the  bay,  drummed  listlessly  a 
few  moments  on  the  glass,  then  turning  to  her  sister   said  : 


142  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

*'  Sue,  I  saw  Hal  last  night." 

"Oh,  Kate." 

Sue  looked  at  the  surgeon.  The  surgeon  looked  back  at 
his  wife. 

"  I  did.  Sue  !  I  saw  him  as  plainly  as  I  now  see  you  and 
John." 

"  A  dream,  Kate." 

"  No,  Sue.  It  was  no  dream.  I  saw  him  alive  and  in  the 
body,  worn  and  emaciated." 

"  Oh,  Kate  !  " 

'*  Yes,  I  did  ;  I  saw  him  and  heard  him — heard  him  call  me 
Kit !  Kit  !  Kit !  just  as  distinctly  as  I  hear  you  say  '  Oh, 
Kate  ! ' " 

Anxious  Mrs.  Munson  trembled.  She  was  confident  that 
brooding  upon  her  bereavement  had  robbed  her  sister  of 
mental  balance. 

Seeing  the  surgeon  and  her  sister  gazing  upon  her  with 
distended,  troubled  eyes,  Kate  continued  : 

"  You  think  it  was  a  dream  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  dear,  that  was  all.     Don't  permit  it  to  disturb  you." 

Mrs.  Huntley  had  approached  her  sister's  husband,  taking 
him  gently  by  the  arm  she  drew  him  to  a  lounge  and  sat  down 
by  him. 

"Let  me  tell  you.  Come  sit  here.  Sue,"  pointing  to  a  foot- 
stool beside  the  lounge. 

Then  she  went  on  and  narrated  the  story  of  the  sick  man 
in  the  hospital,  and  she  concluded  : 

"I  tell  you,  John,  that  is  Hal.  I  know  it,  and  he  is  alive 
in  Andersonville." 

"  Did  you  think  of  it  yesterday  when  you  heard  the 
story." 

"  It  never  occurred  to  me  until  last  night.  Then  he  stood 
before  me  and  called.  Oh,  John,  Sue  !  It  was  so  pitiful. 
It  would  break  your  heart  to  hear  him  call.  Kit,  Kit,  Kit !" 

"Did  your  patient  describe  the  man  ?" 

"  No.  I  never  thought  to  ask  his  description.  But,"  and 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  "I'll  go  this  instant." 

"  Sit  down,   dear."     John   drew   her   gently  back   to  the 


"  HE    STOOD    BEFORE    ME    AND    CALLED."  143 

lounge.     In  her  present  state  of  mind  he  feared  a  description 
of  '  Puss  Cat '  that  would  be  fatal  to  her  hopes. 

*'  You  have  no  other  reasons  than  your  patient's  story  ?" 

*'  I  saw  him  !  " 

"  Not  until  after  you  had  heard  the  patient's  story  ?  " 

"No;  it  was  after,  of  course.  But  that  song.  You 
remember  he  sings  that.     And  Hal  used  to  sing  it." 

"Yes,  dear  ;  but  it  is  a  very  common  ballad." 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  Familiar  to  thousands." 

"True!" 

"  It  is  not  as  if  it  was  a  composition  of  his  own  or  yours, 
known  only  to  you  two." 

"You  forget  his  calling.  His  repetition  of  Kit!  Kit! 
and  so  mournful.  He  always  called  me  that.  Puss  and  Kit. 
Wasn't  it,  Sue  ?     Always  Kit !  " 

"  It  is  the  commonest  of  names,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  John,"  appealingly. 

"Yes,  dear;  nearly  every  man  in  the  army  has  a  wife  or  a 
sister  or  a  cousin  or  a  sweetheart  called  Kit." 

"Oh,  dear!" 

"  And  even  men  are  called  so.  Christoj^her  is  curtailed 
into  Kit.     There  was  Kit  Carson,  and  a  host  of  others." 

Kate  looked  from  her  sister  to  her  brother,  then  lay  back 
on  the  lounge,  her  hands  folded  over  her  eyes.  One,  two, 
three  minutes  passed.  Then  she  sat  up,  with  her  clasped 
hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Don't  be  annoyed  with  me,  dears,  and  don't  think  that  I 
am  silly  or  dreaming,  or  addle-headed,  but  I  tell  you  my  dear 
husband  is  alive  !  " 

"  God  grant  it  !  " 

"  And  that  he  is  in  Anderson  ville." 

"  Dear  Kate  ! "     John  and  his  wife  both  exclaimed  it. 

"And  that  his  name  is  Puss  Cat." 

Much  more  was  said.  Many  arguments  were  offered  to 
dispossess  Kate  of  her  belief,  but  she  remained  unshaken. 
The  surgeon  stood  up. 

"You  will  not  go  out,  dear,  until  I  return." 
10 


144  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  I  must  g-o  to  my  patient." 

"  You  will  please  not  go  until  I  return.  You  will  do  that 
for  me,  dear." 

Kate  acquiesced  without  understanding.  The  doctor  under- 
stood and  iiurried  away  to  the  hospital.  He  was  resolved  to 
remove  the  patient  beyond  Kate's  inquiries  if  the  description 
of  '  Puss  Cat'  varied  glaringly  from  that  of  Sergeant  Halmer 
Huntley.  He  dreaded  a  shock  of  sudden  disappointment. 
The  sick  man  repeated  the  story  as  he  had  told  it  to  Kate. 

"  Is  he  tall  or  short  ?  " 

"  Medium  height.  Should  say  about  five  feet  seven  or 
eight,  present  appearance  somewhat  deceptive  as  to  that, 
considerably  bowed  with  infirmity." 

"The  color  of  his  hair?" 

"  Brown,  bleached  a  good  deal  in  the  sun.  Has  been  hat- 
less  most  of  the  time." 

"His  build?" 

"  Can't  say,  so  worn  with  hunger  and  past  sickness.** 

"  And  the  color  of  his  eyes  ?" 

"  Indeed" — he  paused  a  moment.  "  No,  I  can  not  say  ; 
certainly  blue  or  gray.  I  can  not  say  positively  which.  You 
may  know  a  fellow  fifty  years  and  not  be  able  to  name  the 
color  of  his  eyes  unless  your  attention  had  been  specially 
called  to  it,  and  hunger  changes  expressions  so  much." 

"  Any  dimple  on  his  chin  ?" 

"  If  there  is  it  is  hidden  by  his  beard." 

*'  His  complexion.     Is  it  dark  or  fair  ?" 

"  Ah,  doctor,  the  sallow  blanching  of  fever  and  foul  air 
blots  out  complexions." 

Surgeon  Munson  learned  no  more  than  this.  There  was 
nothing  in  it  at  all  to  destroy  or  confirm  Kate's  belief.  Ser- 
geant Huntley  was  of  medium  height,  liad  brown  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  but  so  had  a  million  men.  The  height  and 
the  hair  were  the  only  two  points  on  whicli  there  was  positive 
agreement  with  Huntley.  On  the  other  points  there  was  no 
positive  disagreement.  It  was  all  so  vague  and  indefinite. 
The  same  language  might  be  used  in  describing  any  one  of  a 
million  people.     Soon  after  Surgeon  Munson  went  away  Kate 


**HE    STOOD    BEFORE    ME    AND    CALLED.'*  145 

Stood  in  the  hospital  bubbling  over  with  anxiety.  Her  ques- 
tions were  a  torrent  Little  details  of  manner  and  speech,  of 
teeth,  a  multitude  of  trifles  that  the  surgeon  would  not  know. 
The  questioning  was,  Munson  repeated,  multiplied  by  a 
devoted  wife's  affection.  But  the  sick  man  had  told  all  he 
knew.  He  could  tell  Kate  no  more.  And  when  he  learned 
what  hopes  his  words  had  planted  he  lamented.  To  the  sur- 
geon he  afterwards  said : 

*'  Thoughtless  words  are  the  fruitful  seed  of  misery.  I 
would  rather  have  bit  my  tongue  off  than  spoken  of  '  Poor 
Puss  Cat,'  if  I  had  known.  She  is  such  a  noble  woman,  and 
she  has  suffered  so  much  ;  and  it  is  all  so  hopeless  and  fruit- 
less— hopeless  and  fruitless,  doctor.  It  is  not  her  husband.  I 
am  sure  of  it.  There  were  no  Chickamauga  men  with  him.  I 
could  not  tell  her  that.  She  seems  to-day  to  live  in  her  belief. 
Poor  suffering  woman  !  It  will  be  a  cause  of  bitterness  to  me 
forever  that  I  have  reopened  the  wounds  of  her  grief." 

The  doctor  was  convinced.  Kate  was  not.  Day  by  day 
her  belief  grew.  It  increased  into  certainty.  It  gave  her  a 
new  interest  in  life.  She  grew  stronger.  She  would  say  to 
her  sister,  "  I  am  thinking,  Sue,  thinking.  Something  must 
be  done.     Wait.     I  will  get  it  fixed  in  my  mind." 

Four  days  afterwards  Aunt  Polly  came  into  the  breakfast 
room. 

"  Clah,  Maws  Majah,  ef  dat  Jupe  ain'  de  biggest  bawn 
fool." 

"  What's  the  matter  now?  " 

"  Dat  niggah  ain't  nebbah  sass'fite  'less  some  one  feedin' 
him  wid  lead." 

"  Shot  again  ?  " 

"  No,  not  dat  yet.  Heem  gwan  'mong  de  seshahs  tu  git 
he'seff  shot." 

"Where?" 

"  Ahtah  dat  fool  woman  o'  heem." 

Mrs.  Huntley  ceased  eating.  From  that  moment  to  the 
end  of  the  breakfast  her  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  center  of 
the  table.  When  Munson  and  his  wife  rose  she  followed 
them  into  the  sitting  room.      As  they  walked  across  the  room 


146  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

she  stood  between  them.  She  threw  her  arms  over  their 
shoulders,  then  about  their  necks.' 

*'  John,"  she  said,  "  when  Jupiter  returned,  wounded  in 
the  fall,  did  he  not  say  that  his  wife  had  gone  to  Anderson- 
ville?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  John,  thoroughly  startled. 

"  And  he  is  going  there  for  her?" 

John  turned  his  face  to  the  questioner.  Her  wide-open, 
earnest  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  A  firmness  had  come 
about  Kate's  mouth  that  gave  a  new  and  strange  expression  to 
her  face.     He  paused  a  moment.     Then  h(3  answered  : 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  It  is  the  opening  !  the  way,  John  !  I  am 
going  with  him." 

"  Kate  !  "  cried  her  sister. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  her  sister's  husband. 

She  drew  the  loved  faces  down  to  her  and  kissed  them. 

"John,  Sue,  dears  !  God  being  my  helper  I  am  going  to 
Hal — to  Andersonville." 


"  HALT  !       HALT   THERE  !  "  147 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  HALT  !       HALT    THERE  !  " 

Mrs.  Huntley's  announcement  astonished  her  hearers. 
They  battered  her  with  entreaties,  prayers  and  tears;  with  rep- 
resentations of  peril,  of  its  uselessness  and  folly.  It  was 
hurling  egg  shells  against  an  iron-clad.  Kate's  purpose  was 
invulnerable  to  persuasions  ;  steeled  against  doubts  and  fears. 
Having  decided,  she  remained  inexorably  steadfast.  "If  you 
will  not  aid  me,"  she  said,  "I  will  go  north  and  penetrate 
Georgia  from  Tennessee.  Oh,  Sue  !  John  !  I  see  Hal's  out- 
stretched hands.  So  thin  !  thin  and  worn  !  I  see  them  day 
and  night  !  His  voice  is  ringing  in  my  heart.  A  helpless 
wail  !     It  tears  my  soul  to  listen  to  it,  dears." 

There  was  no  resisting  her  will.  No  heart  could  be  hard- 
ened against  her  plaintive,  melting  appeals.  Jupiter  was  sent 
for  and  came.  "  Did  he  intend  to  go  ?"  "  Yes."  What  had 
he  learned  about  Anderson ville  ?  "  "  Little."  It  was  some- 
where west  of  the  Ockmulgee  river.  No  more  than  that. 
Then  he  was  told  of  Mrs.  Huntley's  purpose. 

"  Laws,  Miss  Kate,  doan  do  dat  ?  " 

Kate  poured  her  story,  her  belief,  and  her  hopes  into  his 
tender  ears.     He  sobbed  aloud. 

"  Po'  chile.  Miss  Kate,  I'll  gwan  to  de  eend  ob  de  wole 
wid  ye." 

Slie  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck.  Then  Jupiter  and 
the  family  sat  in  council.  It  was  agreed  that  Jupiter  would 
speak  no  more  about  going  himself,  and  that  the  few  friends 
to  whom  he  had  imparted  his  purpose  would  be  led  to  under- 
stand it  was  abandoned,  and  Mrs.  Huntley's  name  was  not  to 
be  mentioned  under  any  circumstances.  They  would  have 
another   conference    that   night.     In   the    meantime    Surgeon 


148  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Munson  would  learn  all  that  was  to  be  learned  about  the  loca- 
tion of  Andersonville. 

In  the  evening  they  met  again,  with  doors  and  windows 
closed.  Munson  had  secured  several  maps.  From  these  it 
appeared  that  the  Ockmulgee  was  navigable  to  Macon  ;  that 
a  railroad  ran  nearly  south  from  Macon  to  Albany  on  the  Flint 
river,  and  that  Andersonville  was  about  two-thirds  of  the  way 
down  the  road  from  Macon.  The  maps  showed  Hawkinsville 
on  the  Ockmulgee  to  be  nearly  west  of  Andersonville.  Jupi- 
ter expressed  confidence  in  his  ability  to  penetrate  the  Alta- 
maha  and  Ockmulgee,  the  only  question  was  how  far,  and  the 
course  to  pursue  afterward.  The  only  attainable  guides  were 
the  maps.  From  these  the  route  was  planned.  They  would 
go  up  the  Ockmulgee  to  or  near  Hawkinsville,  and  then  strike 
across  the  country  to  the  railroad,  and  go  north  or  south  as 
they  happened  to  strike  it  above  or  below  Andersonville. 
The  next  question  was  the  method  of  reaching  the  Altamaha, 
into  which  the  Ockmulgee  pours  its  flood,  Jupiter  yet  had  his 
small  duck-boat.  But  Munson  would  not  trust  Kate  in  this, 
crossing  the  broad  sounds.  A  steamer  was  suggested,  to  take 
them  to  a  point  near  Darien.  Jupiter  thought  this  was  not 
safe  ;  it  misrht  attract  attention  from  the  shore.  A  small  sail 
boat  would  be  better  ;  he  could  make  night  journeys  in  this, 
towinor  the  duck-boat  to  St.  Simon's  Island.       Then  wait  for  a 

o 

fog  and  favorable  wind,  and  dash  across  Altamaha  Sound  to 
near  the  shore,  sink  the  large  boat  and  take  to  tlie  duck-boat. 
Tliis  plan  seemed  feasible  and  was  adopted.  Munson  stood 
up.  *'  Wait  a  bit,  sah."  Then  the  surgeon  found  there  was 
much  more  to  be  thought  of — "  clothing." 

"Have  an  abundance,"  answered  Kate. 

"  Dat  ain't  gwan  to  do.  Ef  you  gwo  youze  a  po'  low  down 
wite,  mine  dat,  an'  you  mus  hab  crackah  clowfui." 

Jupiter  entered  into  details.  As  he  talked,  the  confidence 
of  Kate's  sister  and  her  husband  grew.  This  man  was  so 
provident.  He  pointed  out  so  many  little  details  that  escaped 
their  observation.  A  year's  freedom  had  improved  his  lan- 
guage and  self-dependence  had  broadened  his  vision.  He 
saw  beyond  the  end  of  his  nose.     Kate  was  eager  to  set  out 


"  HALT  !       HALT    THERE  !  "  149 

the  next  night  ;  but  it  was  determined  to  wait  until  the  end 
of  the  third  day.  That  would  give  time  for  preparations  and 
for  valuable  suggestions,  overlooked  in  the  hurry  of  their  con- 
sultation. 

Mrs.  Munson  was  in  a  maze  of  doubts.  "  Oh,  Kate,"  she 
said,  when  Jupiter  retired,  "  are  you  not  afraid  to  go  away 
alone  with  that  powerful  black  man  ?" 

"Afraid  !  Of  a  man  who  will  peril  his  life  to  bring  his 
wife  out  of  slavery.  No,  dear  ;  a  man  who  is  devoted  to  his 
own  wife  will  honor  the  wives  of  other  people." 

Objections  ended  there. 

At  midnight  of  the  third  day  four  persons  stood  on  the 
beach  of  Amelia  Island,  between  Fernandina  and  Fort  Clinch. 
They  were  Jupiter,  Kate  Huntley,  Surgeon  Munson  and  his 
wife.  Before  them  was  a  small  sail  boat  ;  fastened  at  its 
stern  was  Jupiter's  duck-boat.  Surgeon  Munson  and  his  wife 
shook  hands  with  Jupiter,  and  he  walked  down  the  beach. 
Kate's  sister  looked  after  him  a  moment,  then  hurried  after. 
She  threw  her   arms  about  his  neck  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Oh,  be  good  to  her,  be  good  to  her  ! " 

'•  I'd  die  for  she  !     As  I  hope  fo'  hebin  !  " 

"  God  bless  you  !     Good-bye  !  " 

And  she  turned  away.  A  few  moments  later  Kate  was  in 
the  boat  beside  Jupiter.  There  had  been  a  tender  parting. 
The  sail  was  raised.  It  filled  in  the  soft  breeze.  Slowly  at 
first,  as  if  drifting,  it  dropped  away  from  the  beach.  Then 
the  wind  caught  it.  The  waters  rippled  around  its  bow.  The 
forms  within  it  grew  indistinct  from  the  shore.  Then  faded 
out.  Before  John  Munson  and  his  wife  there  was  only  a  broad 
expanse  of  water.  No  sound  but  the  soft  ripple  of  the  tide 
upon  the  shore.  Then  they  turned  and  walked  silently  home- 
ward.    In  the  minds  of  both  of  them  the  same  thought: 

"  AVhat  a  mad,  fruitless  pilgrimage." 

The  boat  sped  on.  Kate  watched  the  shore  until  it  was 
lost  in  the  thin  veil  of  mist,  then  resolutely  turned  her  face 
forward. 

"  Now,  Jupiter,  we  are  comrades." 

"  Youze  capin  and  I'ze  deck  han'. " 


150  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  No,  Jupiter,  we  are  comrades." 

"  Dat's  a  right  pleasaii'  way  o'  tawkin',  Miss  Kate." 

''  Now,  can  I  help  you  ?  " 

'*  No,  honey." 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  when  I  can  do  anything.  I  must 
do  my  full  share,  remember  that." 

"  Den  stop  tawkin'." 

"Be  silent?" 

"Yes,  honey  ;  de  win's  hab  eahs  !  " 

During  the  remainder  of  the  night  there  was  no  sound  in 
the  boat  except  the  foaming  of  the  waters  about  its  bow. 
Hours  sped  away.  Kate  had  been  dozing  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat.  Jupiter  touched  her  and  whispered,  "  Can  you  tell 
what  time  it  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  watch  that  strikes  the  time."  She  touched 
a  spring  and  it  ticked  out  one — two — three. 

"An'  day  breaks  in  a  half  hour.  We  must  put  to  de 
shda." 

They  reached  the  beach  of  Cumberland  Island  and  con- 
cealed the  boats.  Jupiter  crawled  on  the  beach  and  lay  down 
in  the  bushes,  the  rope  of  the  boat  fastened  about  his  arm. 
Kate  lay  in  the  boat  and  slept.  When  Jupiter  awoke  he 
cooked  breakfast,  being  careful  to  make  a  small  fire,  surround- 
ing it  with  logs  for  concealment.  After  dark  they  started 
again.  During  the  night  of  the  third  day  they  reached  St. 
Simon's  Island,  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Altamaha.  A  hufje 
live  oak,  with  its  wide-spreading  branches  festooned  with  a 
dense  growth  of  Spanish  moss,  grew  close  by  the  shore.  At 
its  feet  was  a  narrow  inlet  completely  curtained  by  the  pen- 
dant moss.  Jupiter  had  explored  it  before.  Reaching  it,  he 
pushed  aside  the  curtain  and  drew  in  his  boat.  So  much  of 
the  journey  had  been  passed  in  safety  and  they  were  secure 
from  observation. 

But  the  real  peril  was  to  come. 

Up  to  this  point  no  danger  had  been  expected.  They  had 
only  to  avoid  watchful  eyes,  and  this  they  had  done.  The 
apprehended  danger  lay  in  the  first  twenty  miles  of  the  Alta- 
maha.    Its  mouth  was  bristliuir  with  teeth.     Booms  stretched 


"  HALT  !       HALT   THERE  !  "  151 

across  the  river  and  there  were  picket  boats  in  its  jaws  and 
patrols  on  its  lips.  On  St.  Simon's  Island  there  was  no  cook- 
inor.  The  fire  mio-ht  be  seen  and  the  smoke  attract  attention. 
But  this  had  been  foreseen.  When  the  fog  lifted  from  the 
Sound,  Jupiter  peered  out  throug-h  the  curtain  of  live  oak  moss. 
He  looked  long  and  anxiously.  Half  way  over  toward  Darien 
one  of  the  blockading  squadron  lay  anchored,  floating  lazily 
on  the  bosom  of  the  iinruffled  waters.  Far  off  on  the  lower 
delta  of  the  Altamaha  a  faint  column  of  smoke  rose  above  the 
impenetrable  tree  tops.  Jupiter  could  see  nothing  else  but 
the  shore  and  the  trees.  When  he  turned  away  from  the  cur- 
tain he  said  to  Kate  :  "  It  look  like  de  same." 

Then  they  ate.  After  breakfast  there  was  a  consultation. 
All  tell-tale  papers  and  everything  pertaining  to  Yankee  land 
were  destroyed.  Kate  wanted  to  cling  to  a  pocket  map  she 
had  brought  with  her. 

"  No.  You  must  jist  git  it  in  youm  head.  Crackah  woman s 
doan  go  roun  wid  Ian'  picturs  like  dat." 

Kate  studied  the  map  for  hours,  the  rivers,  their  courses, 
the  railroads,  the  towns,  their  populations,  everything  that 
was  on  the  map  until  she  could  reproduce  it  from  memory. 
Then  she  tore  it  to  shreds. 

"  Now,  Jupiter,  what  else  ?  " 

"Dem  eah  'ings." 

"  Goodness,  can't  I  wear  earrings  ?  " 

"  Coon  don't  wah  sheep  tail." 

The  earrings  came  out. 

'*  Dah's  dat  fingah  ring." 

"  Oh  !  my  wedding  ring  !  " 

"Can't  help  dat." 

"  Oh,  Jupiter.  I  can't  take  that  off.  Dear  Hal  placed  it 
there." 

"  I'ze  powful  mis'able  bout  dat,  honey  ;  but  yo  can't  play 
clay-eatah  in  marryin'  rings.     Dey  uns  doan  hab  um." 

Kate  cried  a  little,  pressed  the  ring  to  her  lips  and  removed 
it.     Then  she  sewed  the  rings  in  her  dress. 

The  night  they  started  from  Fernandina  Jupiter  began 
a  lesson  on  hair.     It  was  necessary  to  shake  it  out,  let  the  sun 


152  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

get  into  it,  put  away  brushes.  In  a  word,  it  must  "  git  frowsy." 
But  Kate  begged  so  hard :  "  Oh,  do  let  it  remain  as  long 
as  possible."  Pride  of  appearance  was  nearly  as  strong  as 
affection.  But  on  St.  Simon's  Island,  in  sight  of  the  Altamaha, 
affection  conquered.  The  pins  were  taken  out.  The  hair 
was  unbound.  When  it  came  down  part  of  it  came  off. 
Jupiter  shook  his  head.  "  Mo'  lamb  tail  on  coon.  Dat  neb- 
bah  do.  No  crackah  ebbah  seed  de  like."  Kate  shivered 
a  little  and  dropped  the  chignon  into  the  sand.  Affection  was 
very  powerful  at  that  moment.  Jupiter  gave  Kate  a  lesson 
in  tying  hair  "po'  white"  fashion.  Then  it  was  unbound 
again  and  remained  all  day  bleaching  in  the  sun.  When 
evening  came  Jupiter  made  no  preparations  for  a  start. 

Kate  was  devoured  with  anxiety. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Won't  do  to  gwo.  Mus'  wait  fo'  a  fog  ter  come  arly. 
Got  twenty  mile  ob  de  ribbah  to  gwo  de  fuss  niglit." 

The  next  day  was  no  better.  The  third  day  was  intensely 
warm  until  mid  afternoon.  Then  a  sudden  chill  came  into 
the  air.  By  four  o'clock  the  opposite  shore  grew  dim.  By 
five  it  had  wholly  vanished.  An  impenetrable  wall  of  fog  lay 
on  the  bosom  of  Altamaha  Sound.  When  Kate  saw  the  film 
gathering  over  the  waters  she  turned  to  Jupiter.  She  could 
tell  from  the  set  of  his  jaws  and  the  stern  look  in  his  eyes  that 
the  supreme  moment  was  coming.  He  watched  the  other 
shore  as  long  as  it  was  discernible.  He  caused  Kate  to  take 
the  bearings  again  and  again  with  a  pocket  compass.  They 
each  had  a  compass.  His  was  the  first  he  had  ever  seen.  He 
looked  in  wonder,  at  the  needle  pointing  to  the  magnetic 
pole.  But  he  could  not  learn  to  understand  it.  He  watched 
the  water  rising  on  the  beach  and  saw  that  it  had  passed  the 
ebb  and  was  slowly  flowing  in.  He  cast  dry  sticks  out  into 
the  current  and  watched  the  direction  in  which  they  floated 
away.  He  noted  that  they  set  straight  away  for  the  opposite 
inlet.  At  eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  seventh  day  of 
June  Jupiter  drew  the  boats  from  the  inlet,  lifted  the  sail, 
looked  carefully  over  every  article  in  the  little  boat,  helped 
Kate  in  and  turned  his  face  toward  Secessia.     Slowly  at  first, 


"halt!     halt  there!"  153 

then  rapidly,  the  boats  plowed  the  bay,  Kate  with  compass 
and  watch  on  her  lap  answering  Jupiter's  directions. 

"Not  an'  howah  yit  !     Clah  to  massy  it  feel  like  two." 

"  It's  an  hour  now,"  answered  Kate. 

"  De  win'  ain't  berry  fass.  Reckon  we  gib  'em  'nuddah 
quatah." 

Fifteen  minutes  more  passed.  Jupiter  stood  up  in  his 
bare  feet.  His  shoes  were  fastened  to  cords  about  his  neck. 
He  drew  the  sail  in,  unshipped  the  mast,  rolled  the  sail  about  it, 
laid  it  on  the  seats  of  the  boat,  lashed  it  fast,  then  drew  up  the 
little  boat  beside  the  great  one.  Kate  stood  up.  She  too  was 
in  her  bare  feet,  her  shoes  being  safely  stowed  away  in  a  great 
pocket.  Kate  protested  against  the  shoeless,  stockingless  feet. 
It  was  pardonable  pride.  But  Jupiter  was  firm.  "  Jawja  po' 
white  doan  wear  no  stockin'."  So  the  stockings  that  shaped 
up  her  pretty  ankles  were  abandoned.  The  shoes  might 
make  a  noise  in  the  boat.  So  they,  too,  were  removed.  Jupi- 
ter held  the  duck-boat  firmly  until  the  little  pink  and  white 
feet  were  dropped  into  it  and  Kate  was  safely  seated.  Then 
he  pulled  a  number  of  plugs  from  the  bottom  of  the  sail-boat, 
which  was  laden  with  stone.  They  watched  the  water  spurt 
in,  watched  the  boat  sink  lower  and  lower  and  then  dis- 
appear. 

"  Now,  Miss  Kate,  whahs  de  coase?" 

Kate  looked  at  the  compass  and  pointed  it  out.  Jupiter 
seized  the  paddle  and  the  light  duck-boat  leaped  forward  into 
the  gloom.  Kate  was  giving  whispered  directions,  a  little  to 
the  right,  a  little  to  the  left,  on  and  on.  An  hour  passed,  and 
then  Jupiter  paused.  They  could  see  nothing.  So  intense 
was  the  darkness  that  the  bow  of  the  little  boat  was  not  dis- 
cernible from  its  stern.  For  the  next  hour  progress  was 
slower.  Little  spurts  of  speed.  Then  pausing  and  listening. 
The  next  half  hour  was  the  same.  Jupiter  knew  he  was  in 
the  river,  but  where?  He  did  not  know.  He  listened  for 
sounds  to  guide  him.     He  leaned  forward  and  whispered  : 

"  Ef  ye  heahs  nise,  tech  my  foot." 

A  few  moments  after  Kate's  little  pink  toes  touched  Jupi- 
ter's ankle.     He  held  his  paddle  suspended  in  the  air  and  beat 


154  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

his  head  down  to  the  water.  Tiien  he  touched  her.  She 
leaned  forward  and  he  whispered  : 

''What  way?" 

*'  Over  to  the  left  of  us." 

"  Doaii  uiidastan  dat." 

Jupiter  bent  his  ears  down  to  the  water  again.  He  was 
troubled.  If  Kate  could  have  seen  his  face  and  read  his 
thoughts  she  would  have  been  in  agony.  Then  a  faint  sound 
came  over  the  water.     Jupiter's  face  cleared  up. 

"  Dat's  all  rio-ht.  Miss  Kate.  13at  soun'  am  on  de  rio-ht. 
Dis  yeah  fog  mighty  deceibin'.     Daiis  picket  obah  dah." 

He  paddled  on  a  few  moments,  then  touched  Kate.  She 
leaned  forward  and  heard  him  whisper  : 

"  Keep  yeh  han'  in  de  watah  ahead  o'  de  boat  an'  look  out 
foh  log.     Tech  me  when  ye  feels  it." 

Kate  put  her  hand  down.  It  was  a  cut-water  of  beautiful 
flesh.  Jupiter  paddled  on  slowly,  the  boat  scarcely  moving. 
Five,  ten  minutes  passed.  Then  Jupiter  felt  a  pressure  on 
his  ankle.  He  gave  the  paddle  a  turn  in  the  water  and  the 
boat  lay  along  side  of  a  boom  anchored  across  the  river. 
Then  Jupiter  whispered  again  : 

"  Must  git  out,  honey." 

"On  that  log?" 

"  Sho,  honey." 

''Couldn't  stand  on  it  a  second." 

"Git  on  you  ban's  and  knees." 

He  irot  out  and  sat  on  the  boom,  astride  of  it.  Then  he 
helped  Kate  out.  She  tried  to  cling  to  it.  Then  for  safety 
she  imitated  Jupiter.  Siie,  too,  dropped  astride  of  it.  Jupi- 
ter lifted  the  light  boat  over,  and  helped  Kate,  drenched  with 
water,  back  into  it. 

"I'ze  powful  misa'ble  'bout  dat  wet,  honey,' 'deed  I  is,  but 
it  can't  be  help." 

Kate  shivered  with  cold,  but  she  whispered  back,  "  Don't 
be  uneasy,  good  friend." 

She  wruns:  the  water  out  and  drew  a  blanket  about  her 
lower  limbs. 


"  HALT  !       HALT    THERE  !  "  155 

After  paddling  a  few  moments,  she  felt  Jupiter  again 
touchino^  her  foot  and  leaned  forward. 

"  Keep  mighty  sharp  eahs  fo'  de  pat'ole  in  de  ribbahc  De 
rail  pinch  am  right  heah." 

Kate  strained  her  ears  listening.  She  could  hear  her  heart 
thump  against  her  sides.  Minutes  seemed  ages.  She  could 
feel  the  boat  rippling  slowly  through  the  water;  l)ut  she  could 
neither  see  Jupiter  nor  hear  the  strokes  of  his  paddle.  Sud- 
denly she  touched  him,  it  was  but  a  faint  pressure,  but  he  felt 
it  like  the  blow  of  a  sledge  hammer.  He  dropped  his  paddle 
into  the  water  and  held  it  suspended.  He  listened  and  heard. 
It  was  the  steady  thud  of  muffled  oars  in  the  row-locks.  The 
sounds  became  more  distinct.  The  boat  was  evidently  cross- 
ing the  river  from  the  right.  Again  Kate  touched  him,  this 
time  violently.  From  out  of  the  shroud  of  fog  came  human 
voices  to  the  left.  The  row-locks  were  crossing  near  the  duck- 
boat.  The  voices  were  above.  Kate's  hand  was  in  the  water, 
her  wide  open  eyes  were  trying  to  shape  Jupiter  out  of  the 
dark.  She  could  tell  from  the  water  moving  against  her  hand 
that  she  was  receding  down  the  stream.  All  else  was  mys- 
tery. Five  minutes  later  the  wash  of  water  on  her  hand 
ceased.  She  could  hear  the  boats  above  her,  then  a  hail  ;  an 
answer ;  a  conversation,  and  the  dip  of  oars  retiring  from  the 
center  of  the  river.     Jupiter  chuckled  in  her  ear  : 

"  Nizey  huntahs  dey  is.  Yer  can't  cotch  coon  wid 
gabble." 

Then  she  could  feel  the  boat  spring  up  the  river. 

The  night  passed  its  center. 

Youth  will  sleep  on  the  skirt  of  battle. 

Kate  grew  drowsy  in  the  monotonous  silence. 

She  would  have  slept,  but  Jupiter  roused  her  into  action. 
He  whispered  : 

"  Must  be  gittin  neah  de  foat." 

"  A  fort  here  ;  mercy  !  " 

"Fort  Bawington,  and  deys  mo'  blockadin  o'  de  rib- 
bah." 

In    a    little    time    this  too    was    reached    and    passed    as 


156  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

the  other,  though  it  was  a  broader  and  firmer  obstruction. 
When  Kate  was  in  the  boat  again  Jupiter  warned  her  to  be 
alert  for  patrol  boats.  But  she  heard  none  until  they  had 
gone  on  so  long  that  Jupiter  notified  her  they  must  be  passed. 
A  half  hour  glided  away.  Suddenly  the  little  boat  grated 
against  a  large  object  in  the  stream.  There  was  a  voice, 
then  oaths,  and  a  hoarse,  loud  cry — "  Halt !  Halt  !  Halt 
there  ! " 


POTATOES  AXD  ONIONS  BETTER  THAN  PKEACHING.    157 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

POTATOES    AND    ONIONS    SOMETIMES    BETTER    THAN    PREACHING. 

The  duck-boat  in  its  flight  up  the  river  had  grazed  the  end 
of  a  guard-boat  lying  motionless  and  headed  across  the  current. 
The  two  boats  were  dimly  visible  to  each  other  at  the  point  of 
contact.  Before  "  Halt "  was  uttered  both  were  fused  in 
obscuration.  Jupiter  gave  his  hand  a  turn.  The  little  boat 
had  been  heading  up  the  river.  Now  it  shot  like  an  arrow 
toward  the  south  shore. 

"  Halt !  Halt  !  Halt  !  "  Then  a  volley.  The  report  was 
heard.  The  flashes  were  invisible.  There  is  no  punctuation 
to  a  fog.  It  blends  itself  with  the  river.  It  gulps  down 
objects. 

The  river,  the  fog  and  objects  within  it  are  one. 

In  this  intense  merging,  the  guard-boat  groped  and  its 
inmates  fired.  Kate  and  Jupiter  could  hear  the  oars,  the 
oaths  and  the  strao^o^lino^  shots  receding^  down  the  river.  The 
men  in  the  guard-boat  had  not  seen  the  direction  from  which 
they  were  touched.  Jupiter  paused.  He  could  feel  Kate 
trembling  in  the  boat.     Voices  reached  him  from  the  shore. 

Sound  is  the  lighthouse  of  a  fog.  Guided  by  this  Jupiter 
headed  up  stream. 

Under  his  vigorous  strokes  the  litttle  duck-boat  leaped 
through  the  water.  The  sounds  below  grew  fainter  and 
finally  died  away.  Then  Jupiter  whispered,  "  Bress  de  Lawd, 
de  las'  pat'ole  boat  am  done  pass,"  and  Kate,  too,  thanked 
God  and  blessed  the  beneficence  of  obscuration.  Miles  were 
placed  between  the  duck-boat  and  the  last  great  peril  before 
Jupiter  whispered  again. 

"  What  houah  am  it  ? "  Kate  touched  the  little  spring 
and  the  watch  ticked  one — two — three — four. 


158  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Jupiter  heard  it.  "  Clah  !  de  night  am  done  gone.  Ef 
dis  yeah  fog  gits,  it's  day,"  and  he  turned  the  head  (jf  the  boat 
to  the  south  shore. 

He  groped  along  the  bank.  An  immen^ie  trunked  liquid 
amber  stood  on  the  shore.  Near  it  was  an  indentation,  a  little 
mouth  for  a  swamp  to  spit  out  its  ooze  and  slime  into  the  great 
river,  a  mouth  thick-toothed  with  tall,  slender  canes  and  strong 
grass.  When  Jupiter  became  sure  that  it  was  the  place  he 
sought,  he  spoke  above  a  whisper  for  the  first  time  during  the 
night,  "  Bress  de  Lawd,  honey,  dis  yeah  de  place."  Then  he 
pushed  the  boat  far  into  the  reeds,  drove  his  paddle  down  into 
the  mud  and  made  the  boat  fast.  Kate  had  been  in  a  tremor 
of  excitement  since  she  was  aroused  from  the  doze  into  which 
she  had  dropped,  and  now  that  she  had  passed  the  first  great 
peril  and  had  fairly  broken  through  the  jaws  of  Secessia  and 
stood  within  its  body,  she  wept.  After  this  Jupiter  wrapped 
her  in  blankets.  He  told  her  he  would  watch  while  she  slept, 
then  she  could  watch  while  he  slept.  She  urged  that  he  was 
tired,  needed  rest  most  and  should  sleep  first.  But  .Jupiter 
insisted.  It  was  easier  to  watch  in  daytime.  "Nothing  to 
fear  but  'gaters'  an'  varmin,  an'  they  ain't  gwine  to  'noy  yeh. 
Sleep,  Miss  Kate  !  Sleep,  honey,  an'  I'll  watch  an'  think  o' 
Mansa." 

Journeying  nights,  resting  and  sleeping  days,  their  progress 
until  the  night  of  the  11th  of  June  was  uneventful.  The 
morning  of  the  12th,  when  Kate  woke  she  was  shivering. 
After  that  came  a  slight  fever.  Jupiter  saw  it  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  Dat's  pow'ful  bad."  Kate's  finger-nails  were  blue. 
When  Jupiter  saw  it  and  saw  her  shivering  he  told  her 
that  was  swamp  ague.  Kate,  under  the  advice  of  Sui-geon 
Munson,  had  brouglit  with  her  several  pages  torn  from  medical 
works.  At  the  tops  of  the  pages  were  such  words  as  these  : 
"  Diarrhoea,"  "  Scurvy,"  "  Intermittent  Fever."  Kate  drew 
them  out,  read  one  of  them,  took  a  bottle  from  her  pot-ket 
and  took  a  pill.  It  was  ague  medicine.  She  restored  the 
bottle  to  the  pocket.  The  capacity  of  a  woman's  pocket  is 
wonderful.     This  one  was  a  little  peripatetic  drug  store.     On 


POTATOES    AND    ONIONS    BETTER   THAN    PREACHING.  159 

this  morning,  through  the  curtaining  of  reeds,  tall  grass  and 
brambles  that  concealed  them  from  the  river,  they  could  see 
steamers  passing  up  and  down.  About  noon  Jupiter  was 
sleeping.  Kate  was  awake  and  watchful.  She  heard  a  noise. 
It  startled  her.  Looking  up,  she  saw  a  black  head  peering 
through  the  bushes  on  the  firm  ground  that  fringed  their  con- 
cealment. She  touched  Jupiter.  He  sat  up  and  looked.  He 
saw  it  was  a  negro,  and  placed  his  finger  on  his  lips.  His 
signs  were  eloquent  of  silence  and  caution.  The  colored 
man  entered  the  fringe.  Before  him  was  a  novelty — a  colored 
man  with  a  white  woman,  and  hiding. 

"  Wha's  y'uns  fro'  ?  " 

"  Down  de  ribbah." 

'*  Wha's  gwine  ?  " 

"  Up  ribbah." 

"  Wha's  hidin'fo'?" 

"  Ain't  hidin'." 

The  colored  man  looked  for  some  minutes  without  speak- 
ing, then  he  said  : 

"  Ef  ain't  hidin'  why  don't  y'uns  stay  in  de  open  ribbah  ?" 

There  was  much  more  conversation,  then  the  colored  man 
went  away,  agreeing  to  come  back  after  dark.  They  had  no 
fear  of  colored  people. 

This  man  left  seed  behind  him. 

It  sprung  into  root,  stalk  and  fruit  with  great  rapidity. 

The  seed  was  his  question. 

"  If  you  are  not  hiding  why  not  stay  in  the  open 
river  ?  " 

Steamboats  and  small  boats  were  on  the  river  constantly. 
They  were  undoubtedly  moving  unquestioned  as  they  did  in 
the  North.  They  were  far  beyond  the  people  watching  the 
mouth  of  the  river.  As^ain  and  ao^ain  Kate  asked  herself  this 
question  :  "  What  is  there  about  us  to  excite  suspicion.  Why 
not  go  boldly  into  the  river  and  travel  by  day  ?  "  When  she- 
had  thought  it  all  out  she  stated  her  views  to  Jupiter.  For  a 
few  moments  he  looked  at  Kate  with  open-mouthed  wonder. 
Then  he  said,  "  Clah  to  oroodness.  You  is  riorht  'bout  dat. 
Ef  de  white  mens  see  a  niggah  puUen  a  white  woman  in  de 
11 


IGO  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

ribbah  dey  jis  go  lang  'bout  dey  biz'iiess.  Dey  fine  we  here 
dey  say  we\s  hi  din',  sho'." 

"  Then  let  us  go  into  the  river  at  once." 

Jupiter  pulled  his  paddle  half  way  out  of  the  mud.  Then 
he  paused,  pushed  it  down  again  and  turned  to  Kate. 

"  Dey's  no  boats  like  dis  yer  in  de  ribbah." 

"  What  kind  have  they  ?" 

"  De  skiff  boat,  all  flat.     Dey'd  notice  dis,  sho." 

Here  was  another  quandary.  Then  it  was  agreed  to  wait 
until  night,  and  see  if  a  skiff  could  not  be  procured  through 
the  slave  acquaintance  of  the  morning.  During  the  afternoon 
Kate  saw  a  boat  pulled  from  the  opposite  shore  to  mid  stream 
and  pause.  Soon  after  a  steamer  came  along  and  took  a  pas- 
senger from  the  small  boat.  This  event  suggested  a  new 
train  of  thoughts.  Why  not  go  boldly  out  to  a  steamer  and 
take  passage  up  the  river  ?  She  spoke  to  Jupiter  about  it. 
At  first   he  shook   his  head.     "  Nebbah  do  !     Feared  o'  dat." 

"  Afraid  of  seeing  your  old  master  ?  " 

"  Law  miss,  dey  such  heap  we  niggah  dat  ole  maws 
wouldn't  know  Jupe  ef  he  done  rub  agin  him.  Ain't  'fraid  o' 
dat." 

"  Is  it  sinorular  for  a  white  woman  to  travel  with  a  colored 

o 

man  on  the  steamers  ?" 

"  Doan  'o,     Reckon  not.     Nebbah  on  one  o'  dem." 

They  agreed  to  wait  for  the  night  interview  with  the  slave 
of  the  bushes.  After  dark  he  came.  Kate  questioned  him. 
The  result  of  his  answering  was  this  :  There  is  much  travel 
on  the  river.  White  men  and  their  slaves.  White  women 
and  their  slaves.  They  often  go  off  in  a  skiff  from  a  point 
above.  A  free  negro  lives  on  the  point  and  carries  them  off.. 
After  learning  this  much  Jupiter  and  Kate  held  a  whispered 
consultation.  The  result  was,  the  slave  escorted  them  to  the 
cabin  of  the  free  negro  on  the  point.  Kate  would  have  paid 
the  slave  for  his  services,  but  he  would  receive  nothing. 

"  No,  mistus,"  he  said,  "I  d'  no  what  I'ze  holpin',  but  I'ze 
knows  I'ze  holpin'.     De  good  Mawstah'U  kear  fo'  yer." 

Reaching  the  cabin  they  entered. 

"  Could  they  be  taken  off  to  the  first  boat  up  the  river  ?  " 


POTATOES    AND    ONIOXS    BETTEll    THAX    PREACHING.  161 

"  Yes." 

"  Could  they  stay  in  the  cabin  till  the  boat  came;  willing  to 
pay  for  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

No  questions  were  asked.  Why  should  the  old  negro  and 
his  wife  ask?  What  was  there  to  ask  about?  He  saw  before 
him  a  poor  white  w^oman,  clad  in  a  coarse  faded  gown  of  anti- 
quated model,  coarse  shoes,  calico  sun  bonnet  and  dishevelled 
hair,  who  spoke  the  dialect  of  the  country.  Jupiter  had 
schooled  her  in  this.  "  Tell  you.  Miss  Kate,  wha'  d'aint  no 
grutit,  dey  ain't  no  hog.  Min'  dat,  an'  keep  up  the  crackah 
gabble."  It  was  not  by  any  means  new  to  Kate.  She  and 
her  husband  had  lived  a  year  before  the  war  in  Tennessee, 
from  which  they  were  compelled  to  flee  for  the  crime  of 
loyalty.  The  other  part  of  the  picture  was  a  black  man,  hav- 
ing on  his  head  the  tattered  crown  of  what  had  once  been  a 
felt  hat.  He  was  barefooted  and  wore  a  coarse  plantation 
shirt.  Coat,  he  had  none.  His  shoes,  coat,  and  a  few  articles 
belonging  to  Kate,  were  tied  in  a  bundle,  which  was  sluiig 
from  the  end  of  a  stick  that  Jupiter  carried  across  his  shoulder. 
Couples  like  these  were  to  be  seen  anywhere  in  the  country. 
Their  appearance  excited  no  inquiry  in  the  minds  of  the  old 
people.  A  supper  was  furnished  them.  Fish  and  corn-bread. 
Kate  relished  it  immensely.  She  had  not  eaten  freshly 
cooked  food  for  several  days.  After  tea  Kate  asked  about 
the  boats.  When  would  they  go  ?  She  learned  that  the 
Macon  boat  ought  to  be  along  early  the  next  day.  The  old 
man  said  he  had  taken  a  lady  and  her  two  "niggahs  "  off  to 
the  Macon  boat  last  week.  This  started  a  fresh  train  of 
thought  in  Kate's  mind.  When  opportunity  offered  she  gave 
its  result  to  Jupiter.  Instead  of  crossing  the  country  they 
would  go  to  Macon  and  take  the  railroad, down  to  Anderson- 
ville.  Jupiter  immediately  assented.  The  next  day  the 
Macon  boat  came  up.  The  old  negro  carried  them  to  mid- 
sti-eam.  The  steamer  paused.  Took  them  aboard.  Without 
further  incident  they  passed  up  the  river  under  the  shadow  of 
Brown's  mount,  a  ridge  of  shell  stone,  towering  seven  hundred 
feet  above  the    river,  the  trace  of  ocean  lashing  yet  visible 


162  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

almost  to  its  summit  ;  past  the  great  Indian  mound,  crowned 
with  oaks  and  hickories,  on  the  east  side  of  the  river  ;  then 
into  the  rocky,  precipitous  jaws  shaded  with  beech  and  giant 
pophirs,  back  of  which  lay  Macon,  on  both  sides  of  the  Ock- 
mul<»"ee,  a  bridge  rewedding  wiiat  nature  had  divorced. 
When  the  landing  was  reached  Kate  walked  straight  up  into 
tiie  town.  Jupiter  followed  a  respectable  distance  behind. 
After  they  had  proceeded  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town  Kate 
paused.  When  Jupiter  stood  beside  her  she  asked  what  they 
would  do  for  lodgings  until  she  could  learn  about  the  cars. 
Jupiter  told  her  to  walk  on  slowly  until  he  could  inquire  of 
negroes.  Soon  he  caught  up  to  her  and  she  turned  back  witii 
him  to  a  negro  cabin.     Its  occupant  was  an  aged  negress. 

This  woman  was  a  slave  and  paid  her  mistress  one  huncired 
dollars  a  year  for  the  privilege  of  earning  her  bread. 

The  mistress  levied  a  toll  on  God  and  lived  by  it. 

The  slave  paid  the  toll,  washed,  sewed,  waited  on  parties 
and  prospered. 

Durincr  the  evenincr  the  toll-paver  said  she  had  done  wash- 
ing  for  Yankee  prisoners  in  the  hospital. 

Kate  was  sitting,  plunged  in  an  abyss  of  thought,  the 
word  "prisoner"  roused  her. 

"Here,  in  Macon?"  she  asked  in  surprise.  She  did  not 
know  there  was  a  prison  pen  for  officers  at  Macon. 

"Yis'm,  heah!" 

"I  thought  they  were  at  Andersonville?"  The  moment 
she  said  it  regret  pricked  her  into  misery. 

"  Dev  is  a  pen  at  Andahson' — dey  say  it  'm  misable  awful 
dah;  jist  heaps  an'  heaps  o'  po'  critters,  an'  dyin'  like  pizen'd 
rats." 

Kate  shivered. 

"Po'  creeturs!"«she  exclaimed.  Throughout  she  imitated 
'^  po'  whites"  as  nearly  as  she  could. 

"Dat  dey  is,  mistus.  Dat  dey  is.  Fze  miglity  glad  to  heah 
you  say  dat.  Dey's  such  heaps  o'  de  white  ladies  heah  goes 
down  to  see  'um  an'  make  fun  o'  dey  mis'ry." 

Tears  were  in  Kate's  eyes.  The  colored  woman  noticed  it. 
She  looked  again;    then  walked  quickly  to  the  door  and  shut 


POTATOES  AND  o:N^IONS  BETTER  THAX  PREACHING.     ]63 

it.  When  the  door  was  closed  she  came  over  and  laid  her 
wrinkled  hands  on  Kate's  head. 

"  Deah  mistus,  cry  way  down  in  you  hawt,  but  you'll  git 
inter  mistrouble  sho'  if  dey  sees  teahs  for  de  po'  Yanks.  Dat 
yo'  will,  honey." 

Kate  took  the  hands  in  her  own,  pressed  them  closely,  laid 
lier  lips  against  them,  laid  her  head  on  them  and  wept,  and 
she  thought,  "Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  tell  this  good  creature." 

The  knowledge  that  Macon  ladies  visited  Andersonville 
set  Kate  to  thinking.  The  Macon  papers  of  the  next  morning 
contained  a  lengthy  report  of  the  capture  of  escaped  prisoners 
from  Andersonville.  They  had  reached  the  mountains  almost 
in  sight  of  safety.  There  was  also  an  assurance  to  the  South- 
ern people  that  the  mountains  and  passes  were  so  thoroughly 
guarded  that  escape  was  next  to  impossible.  Then  for  the 
first  time  Kate  was  agitated  with  the  riddle,  after  Anderson- 
ville, what?  No  question  of  her  husband's  living  and  being 
in  Andersonville  entered  her  mind. 

Between  dawn  and  mid-day  there  is  interregnum. 

Kate  was  passing  through  this  interval. 

The  safe  j^'^ssage  on  the  boat  was  A.  Ladies  visiting 
Andersonville  and  impassable  mountains  were  more  letters. 
The  alphabet  of  knowledge  was  filling.  Suddenly  there  came 
to  her  this  thouo-ht : 

"We  were  safer  in  the  crowd  of  the  boat  than  in  the  soli- 
tude of  marsh  and  forest." 

The  fruit  of  her  thinking  was  this  aphorism:  "A  crowd  is 
a  desert."  Kate  was  approaching  the  mid-day.  She  was 
growing  wise.  When  opportunity  came  she  conveyed  her 
thoughts  to  Jupiter.  It  was  this:  "Why  not  lose  ourselves  in 
the  crowd  of  Macon?    Why  not  effect  the  rescue  from  here?" 

Rap  the  flint  and  steel  of  two  thinking  heads  together — 
the  result  is  light. 

Truth  is  words  in  percussion. 

Discovery  is. brains  in  collision. 

The  conclusion  of  the  consultation  was  this:  Kate  would 
hire  a  little  house  in  the  suburb  of  Macon  and  operate  from 
there.      The    house    hired,    she    would    leave    Jupiter,  go  to 


164  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Andersonvillft  on  tlie  cars,  ascertain  where  Mansa  lived,  learn 
all  that  was  possible  about  the  prison,  and  on  her  return  they 
would  agree  upon  a  plan  of  rescue.  When  the  colored 
woman  returned  at  noon  Kate  spoke  of  the  house. 

Yes,  that  was  easy  enough.  One  vacant  right  in  the  rear 
on  the  next  street.  Looks  poor  outside;  very  good  order 
within.  It  was  pointed  out.  The  rear  of  it  not  an  hundred 
feet  from  the  cabin  they  were  in,  and  there  was  a  tumble- 
down stable  on  the  back  end  of  the  lot.  The  owner  of  it  slie 
also  knew,  and  would  guide  her  to  him. 

"  You'ze  money  to  pay!  " 

"Oh,  yes!" 

Kate  had  several  thousand  dollars  in  Confederate  money, 
procured  for  almost  nothing  by  Surgeon  Munson,  and  she 
was  liberally  supplied  with  gold,  besides  having  more  than  a 
thousand  dollars  in  greenbacks  sewed  in  her  garments. 

Before  Kate  went  to  the  house-owner,  the  colored  woman 
said  to  her: 

"Honey,  I  doan'  know,  an'  don'  want  ter,  on'y  dem  hans  is 
too  saff  and  white  fo'  po'  low  down." 

Kate  was  visibly  perturbed.  If  this  woman  could  pene- 
trate, why  not  others?  But  the  woman  had  not  penetrated. 
The  very  soft  hands,  clean  finger  nails,  little  attempts  at 
"  fixin'  up,"  as  the  old  woman  afterwards  called  it,  all  satisfied 
her  that  Kate  was  playing  a  part.  But  what  part?  Of  that 
she  was  ignorant  ancl  unsuspicious. 

She  observed  the  fever  that  came  into  Kate's  face — and  the 
paleness  that  followed. 

"Doan  be  askeer,  honey;  J'ze  had  a  pow'ful  lang  time  fo' 
lookin'  on  ye.  Jess  dirt  yer  hans  an'  g'lang.  Dirt  hides  de 
white  an'  de  saft." 

Kate  accepted  the  lesson.  That  afternoon  the  house  was 
hired,  a  month's  rent  paid  in  advance,  and  with  the  aid  of 
their  hostess,  the  necessary  articles  for  cooking,  eating  and 
temporary  comfort  were  procured,  and  that  night  Kate  was  a 
housekeeper  in  the  heart  of  Georgia. 

Rest,  shelter  and  medicine  had  already  expelled  the  incipi- 
ent attack  of  fever.     The  next  day,  the   16th   of  June,  lSG-1, 


POTATOES  AND  ONIONS  BETTER  THAN  PREACHING.    165 

Kate  was  in  the  cars,  a  ticket  in  her  hand  for  Americas,  a 
station  on  the  road  below  Andersonville.  The  cars,  nearly- 
full  on  the  start,  rapidly  filled  on  the  road.  At  Montezuma 
an  elderly  lady  entered  and  occupied  the  seat  immediately  in 
front  of  Kate.  An  instant  after  several  young  ladies  romped 
in,  and  with  much  clatter  occupied  the  vacant  seats  about  the 
elderly  lady  on  both  sides  of  the  aisle.  A  clerical-looking 
gentleman  passed  down  between  them.  From  their  conver- 
sation Kate  learned  it  was  the  Rev.  Sniggins  "  going  to  visit 
the  nasty  Yanks." 

The  cars  started  and  the  young  ladies  opened  their 
mouths. 

"  Nasty  wretches." 

"  Snivelling." 

"  Canting." 

"  Miserable." 

"Thieving." 

"  Cowardly." 

"  Yankee  hirelings." 

"  Invaders." 

"  Hope  they'll  die,  every  one  oL  them." 

The  utterer  of  this  atrocious  sentiment  was  the  youngest 
of  the  cluster — not  over  sixteen. 

"  My  dear,  it  grieves  me  to  hear  you.". 

Kate  looked  up.  It  was  the  elderly  lady  who  spoke.  Kate 
noticed  her.  It  was  a  benevolent  face,  with  a  kindly  mouth 
and  tender  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Spleenless,  haven't  you  enough  of  the  Yanks 
yet." 

It   was   one    of    the    older   of   the    o-irls    who    fluno-   this 

o  o 

stone. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  dear." 

"  Haven't  most  of  your  friends  closed  their  doors  against 
you  for  trying  to  take  food  to  these  miserable  wretches?" 

"  I  regret  to  say  they  have,  dear." 

"  Nasty,  vile  wretches.  I  wouldn't  give  one  a  grain  of 
corn  to  save  his  cowardly  life."     This  was  from  the  youngest. 

"  Don't,  dear,"  responded  tender  eyes.    "  My  dear  boy  was 


166  BRISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

a  prisoner  North,  and  treated  with  much  kindness.  He  was 
wounded  and  sick,  and  they  cared  for  him  with  great  tender- 
ness. Under  the  dear  Father  in  heaven,  I  owe  his  life  to  the 
people  of  tlie  North." 

"And  his  wounds." 

"  And  his  sickness." 

"And  his  captivity." 

"Oh,  yes;  but  those  were  cruel  accidents  of  war." 

"Yankee  war." 

"  To  steal  niojorahs." 

"  Whatever  it  is  about,  I  cannot  forget  how  they  cared 
for  him." 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  different." 

"  He  is  a  Southerner." 

"And  a  gentleman." 

"A  Southern  gentleman  has  a  right  to  demand  proper 
treatment,  that  these  miserable  Yankees  cannot  expect." 

"  So  different  from  these  nasty  Yankees." 

"  They  are  somebody's  sons  and  brothers,"  responded  the 
old  lady.  "And  I  would  help  them  if  I  could.  Unfortunately 
I  cannot.     The  prison  commandant  will  not  permit  it." 

"I  am  glad." 

"  So  am  I." 

The  mouths  of  the  misses  were  all  moving  at  once. 

The  saintly  Sniggins  approached  during  the  storm  of 
words.     One  of  the  misses  spoke  to  him — 

"  Oh,  dear,  Mr.  Sniggins,  did  you  hear  Mrs.  Spleenless, 
she  is  defending  her  course  towards  those  filthy  Yankees." 

"Yes,  dear  Miss  Begrime,  I  heard  her,  and  it  pains  me 
deeply,  very  deeply,  indeed,  that  one  of  my  flock;  yes,  one  of 
my  flock,  with  whom  I  have  labored  so  long  and  so  prayerfully 
to  keep  in  the  right  way;  in  the  right  way,  my  dears,  should 
so  far  forget  her  duty  to  God  and  the  South." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Spleenless,  looking  over  her  spec- 
tacles, "do  you  not  go  to  them." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  madam,  I  do  indeed.     It  is  my  duty." 

"And  for  what,  doctor?" 


POTATOES    AND    ONIONS    BETTER   THAN    PREACHING.  167 

"  To  preach  to  them.  To  pray  for  them.  To  carry  the 
bread  of  life  to  their  hungry  souls." 

"You  would  bring  unbelievers  to  Christianity  much  faster 
by  carrying  potatoes  and  onions — the  bread  of  health — to 
their  festering,  scurvy-smitten  bodies." 

"Oh!" 

*'0h,  my!" 

"Mrs.  Spleenless!" 

"Dear  Mr.  Sniggins!" 

The  mouths  of  the  misses  were  in  agitation.  Sniggins 
rubbed  his  chin  and  turned  away,  muttering,  "  That  woman 
ought  to  be  seen  to.  Such  sentiments  are  dangerous  to  the 
country." 

The  cars  bumped  together.  Doors  at  both  ends  opened. 
Voices  brawled  "  i\.n-dah-sin,"  and  the  train  halted.  Kate 
went  out  with  the  crowd.  "There  was  a  small  platform;  near 
it  a  long,  rude  building,  like  a  storage  house;  about  it  several 
teams,  a  crowd  of  old  men  and  boys  in  gray  uniforms,  and 
several  others  in  blue.  The  gray  Kate  could  comprehend. 
But  the  blue,  what  did  that  mean?  As  she  walked  toward  the 
end  of  the  warehouse  she  passed  close  to  two  blues  loading  a 
wagon  with  provisions.     She  heard  their  voices: 

First  voice:  "There's  more  of  them  gabbling  secesh  petti- 
coats come  to  mock  at  our  calamity." 

Second  voice:  "I  hope  God  will  blast  the  eyes  of  every 
woman  who  comes  to  laugh  at  the  sufferings  of  our  comrades." 

Here  were  two  men  in  blue  uniforms,  out  of  prison,  un- 
guarded, working  for  the  rebels,  and  cursing  secession.  Kate 
was  puzzled.  She  couldn't  understand  it.  But  she  photo- 
graphed the  two  faces  on  her  memory.  Then  she  turned  the 
corner  of  the  warehouse  and  followed  the  crowd  slowly  down 
the  road.  One  of  the  wagons  followed  after.  Kate  dawdled. 
So  did  the  wagon,  but  it  caught  up  to  her.  Its  driver  was  the 
ovvner  of  the  first  voice.  As  he  came  alono;side  of  her,  Kate 
spoke. 

"  I  hear  that  some  of  the  prisoners  have  queer  names." 

"Not  near  so  much  so  as  you  secesh  1" 


168  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"Isn't  one  of  them  named  Puss  Cat?" 

"  There  is  one  of  them  called  Puss  Cat." 

"  Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Kate. 

When  she  heard  his  answer  she  seized  him  by  the  arm.  It 
was  the  clutcli  of  a  vise.  Her  heart  beat  against  her  ribs  like 
a  trip  hammer.     This  was  what  he  said: 

"Know  him!  Know  him!  Why  ma'am,  he  is  an  old 
Chickamauga  boy!" 


HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIN    HER.  169 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIN    HER. 

The  driver  had  seen  hundreds  of  women  about  the  prison 
dressed  as  Kate  was;  looking,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  precisely 
as  she  did,  all  moved  by  the  same  curiosity  to  see  the 
"Yanks"  and  gloat  over  their  misery,  and  there  was  no  re- 
striction upon  his  conversation  with  them.  When  Kate  seized 
his  arm  he  was  surprised.  He  had  been  marching  along  with 
his  eyes  bent  on  the  road,  beating  the  sand  with  his  whip; 
now  he  turned  his  face  full  upon  her.  He  saw  her  earnest 
eyes  fixed  upon  him.     She  spoke: 

"  And  his  name,"  she  said,  "  is  Halmer  Huntley." 

Her  voice  was  soft,  musical  and  low,  scarcely  above  her 
breath,  but  the  driver  heard  it. 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  know?" 

Kate  was  too  confident  to  be  halted  by  doubts.  She  was 
so  sure  it  was  her  husband  that  she  never  thought  of  hesi- 
tating lest  her  hopes  would  be  answered  with  despair. 

"And  his  name,"  she  persisted,  "is  Halmer  Huntley?" 

"Yes,  that  is  his  name,  ma'am,  the  grandest  old  sarge 
that  ever  wore  chevrons." 

Kate's  hands  were  clasped  together,  and  she  was  murmur- 
ing, in  bird  notes,  to  herself,  "Oh,  I  knew!  I  knew!  I  knew! 
God  is  so  good!  " 

At  that  moment  her  face  was  glorified. 

Then  she  whispered  to  the  driver,  "  Do  you  like  him?" 

"  Like  him !    The  old  boys  love  Sarge  Hal  like  a  brother.". 

"Would  you  help  him?" 

"  Give  me  a  raw  potato,  or  an  onion — or — heavens,  ma'am! 
if  you  want  the  boys  to  pray  for  you,  just  give  me  one  lemon 
to  smuggle  into  Sarge  Hal." 


170  BRISTLING    AVITH    THORNS. 

"And  you  have  clone  that?" 

"Look  here,  madam,  I'm  not  around  answering  secesh 
catechism." 

"Would  you  help  Hal  yet,  if  you  could?" 

The  driver  turned  upon  her  suddenly,  perhaps  to  detect 
lurkin<r  evil,  if  there  was  such.  But  he  saw  nothing  but  a 
soiled  face  and  gentle,  loving,  humane  eyes.  Kate  could  not 
hide  these. 

"T  tell  you  ma'am,  you  may  be  on  giving  me  away  to  that 
Wirz  fiend.  If  you  are — pshaw!  I  don't  know  what  you  are 
on;  betray  me  if  you  want  to,  but  I  won't  throw  away  a 
chance  to  help  Hal,  or  any  of  the  boys." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad."  There  was  a  genuine  ring  in  the 
voice  that  the  driver  could  not  doubt. 

"But,"  said  he,  "what  interest  have  you  in  him?" 

Kate  drew  close  up  by  his  side.  They  were  moving  at  a 
snail  pace  through  the  deep,  yellow,  friable  sand. 

"  I  am,"  she  whispered,  "  his  wife." 

"You!  you!  a  sand  hiller." 

"I  am  not  a  sand  hiller." 

"Ah!  ah!     Heavens!  Hal's  wife!" 

"Yes!" 

"Kit?" 

''Kate!" 

"Kit!  Kit!  How  often  I  have  heard  it.  Kit!  Kit!  How 
he  loved  it!  Kit!  Kit!  How  happy  he  grew  over  it.  Kit  I 
Kit!  When  the  lightning  was  flashing  above  us  and  the 
storm  was  beating  down  upon  and  drenching  our  uncovered 
bodies!  Kit!  Kit!  x\nd  when  the  flashes  lit  up  his  face  it 
looked  so  liappy!  Kit!  Kit!  To  see  his  face  in  the  blinding 
light  and  the  pelting  storm,  it  helped  us  all.  Kit!  Kit!  You 
don't  know  the  effect  of  a  little  leaven  of  luippiness  in  a  lump 
of  misery!     Kit!   Kit!" 

"I  am  beginning  to  know  it  now." 

"And  sometimes  it  was  so  piteous.  Kit!  Kit!  So  piteous! 
Kit!  Kit!" 

'*0h,  Hal!     Dear  Hal!" 

"And  you  are  Kit?" 


HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIN    HER.  171 

"Yes!" 

"You  are  not  a  big  woman?" 

"No!" 

"  But  vou  are  the  bio-o-est  woman  I  ever  saw." 

1/  OCT" 

"Oh!" 

"  And  the  bravest." 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Brave!  You  are  heroic!  With  your  eyes  open  you  have 
deliberately  walked  into  the  jaws  of  hell." 

"  Oil,  poor  Hal.     Poor  suffering  prisoners." 

"Look  here,  Mrs. Kit.     We  are  half  way  over  now. 

You  can  walk  on  if  you  please.  But  it  will  be  safer  if  you 
leave  me  here.  Don't  look  about — after  I  tell  you  This 
evening  walk  down  the  railroad  until  you  come  to  Little 
Sweetwater  creek." 

"Little  Sweetwater?" 

"  A  creek  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  wide,  just  below  the 
depot.  Not  the  first  little  brook,  remember.  The  large  one. 
Follow  the  path  up  that  till  you  come  to  the  wood,  and  go 
along  the  road  until  you  come  to  old  Marmaduke  Titefist's 
place." 

"Marmaduke  Titefist!  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !     So  glad  !     God  is  so  good  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  No.     But  go  on,  please." 

''  Well,  you  go  there.  It's  the  first  place  on  the  road. 
You  can't  miss  it.  Titefist  went  to  Savannah  to-day.  I  heard 
him  say  he  wouldn't  be  back  for  two  weeks.  There  is  no  one 
on  the  place  but  his  bed-ridden  wife,  two  old  negroes  and  a 
young  negro  woman  nurse." 

"  Is  her  name  Mansa  ?" 

"  Mansa  !  Yes  !  Yes  !  That  is  it.  But— heavens  !  Where 
did  you  get  to  know  so  much  about  the  country  ?  " 

"  It  is  God  who  is  guiding  !  Oh,  how  good  !  How  won- 
derfully good  is  God  !  " 

"Yes,  God  is  good  ;  He  has  saved  us  so  far.  But — but — 
sometimes  I  think  He  would  be  better  if  He  would  hurry  Old 


172  BIIISTLIN^G    WITH    THORNS 

Wirz  and  the  villainous  imps  about  him  here  down  into  the 
hottest  flames  of " 

"  Don't !     Don't !     Please  !  "    . 

"  Let's  call  it  to  the  bottomless  pit.  Go  now.  Don't  for- 
get the  Titefist  place.  The  negroes  will  let  you  into  a  cabin 
and  I  will  see  you  to-night.  The  cliaiices  are  big,  but  I  will 
take  'em  for  Hal.     Go  now  !     Kit  !— Kit  !— Kit  !— "     ■ 

'*  Till  then,  dear  friend,  good  bye  !  " 

The  wagon  pursued  the  road  to  the  stockade  gate.  Kate 
followed  the  petticoated  railers  of  the  cars  along  a  road  lead- 
ing southward  up  a  hill.  There  she  found  them  peering  into 
the  great  guns  surmounting  a  star-shaped  fort.  The  moment 
slie  turned  into  the  south  road  her  nostrils  were  saluted  with 
an  odor.  She  did  not  observe  it  before.  Slie  was  too  intent 
with  her  purpose  to  observe  anything.  Now  it  assailed  her. 
It  was  a  stench  so  strong  that  it  battled  down  and  rose  above 
tiie  fragrant  aroma  that  floated  on  the  soft  air  from  the  pine 
forest  north  of  the  stockade  which  lay  in  the  valley  below  the 
fort. 

"  Stink  like  pigs,"  puffed  one  of  the  chatterers. 

"  Nasty  creatures,"  snuffed  a  second  with  a  scent-bottle  at 
the  end  of  her  upturned  nose. 

From  the  fort  the  chatterers  turned  to  the  officers'  quar- 
ters. The  officers  were  all  bows  and  grins.  The  chattering 
mouths  escorted  by  the  bows  and  grins  walked  down  to  the 
palisade.  Kate  followed.  She  observed  that  the  palisade  was 
about  twenty  feet  high  and  turreted.  The  turrets  were  little 
sentry  boxes  one  hundred  feet  apart  all  around  its  top.  At- 
tached to  each  of  these  she  saw  small  platforms  on  which 
armed  sentries  were  walking.  Within  the  stockade  was  a  vast 
multitude  of  people.  She  could  see  that  many  of  them  were 
coatless,  hatless  and  shoeless.  Bare-headed  men  were  walking 
about  listlessly  under  the  fierce  sun.  Others  were  reclining 
under  blankets  and  coats  propped  up  by  sticks.  Looking 
down  into  the  ravine  she  could  see  but  little  more  than  that. 
But  the  breath  of  the  valley  was  a  loatlisome,  noxious  efflu- 
via ;  it  was  nauseating. 

Near  the  palisade  were  a  number  of  men  in  blue  uniforms. 


IIEK    SOUL    FROZE    WITIIIX    HER.  173 

Kate  soon  learned  that  these  were  fresh  arrivals  who  had  not 
yet  entered  the  prison  stockade.  They  had  already  been 
standing  four  hours  in  the  broiling  sun.  Kate  noticed  that 
one  man  near  the  end  of  the  line  was  reclining  on  the  sand. 

Then  Kate  heard  a  harsh  voice,  "  Git  you  Yank  oop  !  oop  ! 
I'll  plo'  you  head  off  !  "  * 

"I  am  unable  to  stand,"  responded  a  feeble  voice. 

"  Oop  !  oop  !  you  !  oop  !  " 

The  man  attempted  to  rise  and  fell  again. 

"  Oop  !  oop  !  get !  " 

Some  comrades  stooped  and  raised  the  man.  The  moment 
they  released  their  grasp  he  fell  again  with  a  dull  thud  upon 
the  sand. 

Kate  was  burning  with  indignation.  Her  little  hands  were 
clenched,  the  nails  penetrating  her  soft  palms,  her  white 
teeth  grinding  together.  She  photographed  the  man  for  eter- 
nal hate.  This  was  the  photograph  :  A  slender,  weazened 
man,  about  five  feet  eight  inches  in  height,  with  drooping 
shoulders,  whitey  gray,  restless  eyes,  protruding  brows,  low, 
retreating  forehead  and  small  head.  He  wore  a  gray  cap,  a 
juvenile  calico  waist,  to  which  his  drab  pants  were  buttoned, 
six  year  old  boy  style.  A  baby  uniform  on  a  beast.  Bread 
and  butter  toggery  on  a  murderous  club.  The  face  covered 
with  frowsy  hair  with  its  ferret  eyes  and  mouth  protruding 
like  a  rat,  was  disagreeable  to  look  upon.  This  was  Wirz — 
the  giant  monster  of  the  century,  the  fit  instrument  of  the 
most  pitiless,  malevolent,  diabolic  conspiracy  that  ever 
smirched  the  pages  of  history. 

As  they  approached  the  southwest  corner  of  the  stockade, 
the  o^ate  vawned  and  belched  out  a  wao-on.  Kate  saw  it  and 
shivered.  Her  soul  froze  within  her.  She  turned  away  her 
face  in  horror.  Miss  Begrime  and  the  other  misses  gave  one 
look,  exclaimed  and  ran  on.  The  wagon  was  loaded  with 
Union  dead,  uncoffined,  unshrouded,  many  of  them  entirely 
naked,  hideously  bloated,  slime  oozing  from  their  mouths  and 
bodi.es,  maggots  squirming  over  them,  and  two  of  the  bodies 
protruded  over  the  wagon,  the  wheels,  with  every  revolution, 

*  Affidavit  of  Augustus  Swenson,  Co.  A,  IStti  Peunsylvania  reserves. 


174  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

grinding  against  and  into  the  corrupting  flesh,*  and  the  torn 
flesh  was  clinging  to  the  wagon  tire. 

Kate  was  horrified.  Slie  covered  her  ears  and  ran  on  after 
the  girls  of  the  Cass. 

"Girls,  where  are  you  going?"  shouted  one  blue-eyed 
miss. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  another,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  leader,  "  where  we  can  see  the  most  fun." 

Kate  was  not  sanguinary.  She  was  a  tender  woman, 
gentle  and  loving.  But  she  felt  then  that  she  could  stab  that 
girl.  She  would  have  turned  away  in  loathing  from  them. 
Where?  Where?  That  was  the  riddle.  If  she  went  where 
they  went  she  knew  that  she  would  be  in  a  beaten  track. 

The  unusual  was  the  rock  on  which  she  feared  being 
dashed. 

Love  and  hope  led  her  on  in  the  train  of  the  abhorrent, 
under  a  pattering  of  words  that  stung  and  burned  like  molten 
lead. 

Kate  followed  the  chatterers. 

She  was  walking  barefooted  on  coals  of  fire. 

She  had  only  yet  seen  the  outer  garments  of  horror. 

She  passed  on. 

The  stench  penetrated  her. 

Again  she  would  have  fled.  She  would  have  cried  out. 
She  dared  not. 

She  was  bound  to  the  rack  of  heartless  chatterers.  She 
followed  on  around  the  south  end  of  the  stockade  to  the  hos- 
pital. The  girls  entered.  There  was  no  floor.  Patients  were 
stretched  groaning  upon  the  naked  earth. 

The  train  pushed  on  rapidly.  Kate  followed  slowly,  rever- 
ently, down  between  the  moaning  suff'erers.  The  fourth  figure 
shocked  her.  There  were  no  teeth  in  his  jaw;  his  knees  were 
drawn  up  almost  to  his  chest;  slime  was  oozing  from  his 
mouth.  A  man  was  bending  over  him.  Through  the  ooze 
she  could  hear  the  voice:  "01!  01!  don't — tell — moth-er — 
dear — old — moth-er  —  that — I — die  —  this — hor-ri-ble — death 

♦  Augustus  Swenson,  in  his  affidavit  says,  when  the  dead  were  carried  away  "  Some 
of  the  dead  bodies  hung  down  over  the  wheels  and  the  wheels  ground  off  the  flesh." 


HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIN    HER.  '  175 

— don't — !      It  would — pain — her — so — don't.      Oh!    d-o-n-'t! 
Poor  moth-er!  " 

Kate's  soul  was  overflowing,  but  she  dare  not  pause.  She 
moved  slowly  on.  Near  the  middle  of  the  pen  a  figure  lay 
alone.  It  was  almost  nude  and  uncovered.  Under  it  was  no 
straw,  no  blanket,  no  quilt — nothing,  but  the  bare,  harsh  sand. 
His  eyes  were  wide  open  and  staring.  His  hands  were  folded 
across  his  breast.  He  was  a  boy,  seventeen  or  eighteen — a 
white-faced  boy,  and  he  was  speaking:  "Mother,  take  me 
home.  Do  mother!  That's  a  good  mother!  Take  me  home! 
I  must  go  home,  you  know,  if  only  for  a  day,  mother — and — 
lie  under  the  trees  with  sisters.  Take  me  home.  I  knew  you 
would — take  me — home — home — mother."  Poor  Kate!  how 
she  did  long  to  drop  down  in  the  sand  beside  him,  to  pour  a 
flood  of  tears  upon  his  face,  to  kiss  his  fevered  lips  and  bear  a 
message  to  the  mother  who  would  never  take  him  home, 
nevermore.  The  hopelessness  of  the  efi"ort  and  her  one  great 
purpose  restrained  her.  It  needed  barriers  of  steel  to  with- 
hold her  then;  but  she  refrained,  and  moved  on  after  the  girls 
she  so  heartily  hated. 

Outside  the  door  was  a  crowd.  Above  the  crowd  the  rat- 
face on  the  white  horse;  about  the  crowd  a  number  of  dogs, 
growling,  looking  fiercely  into  the  crowd,  and  licking  their 
chops.  Their  breasts  and  legs  were  covered  with  blood.  The 
rat-face  spoke. 

''Dunner!  ish  dot  Fret?" 

"  Yaas,  Cap'n,  dis  year's  Fred." 

"You  cotch  him?" 

"  Yaas,  ther  dogs  git  'im.". 

"  I  hopes  dey  pite  him  goot." 

"  Waul,  they  cotched  'im  by  ther  leg,  climin',  an'  I  jis  let 
'em  chaw  to  git  ther  jaws  in." 

"  Dot's  goot;  dot's  goot.     Dey  dares  him  goot?" 

"Yaas;  you  look." 

Rodent-face  looked.  "Hah!  you  run  away  birae  by  agin, 
I  don't  tink  some  dimes,  hey?  Dey  don't  dares  him  haf 
enough.     No,  not  haf  goot!  " 

Kate  looked  at  the  boy  Fred  and  shuddered. 
12- 


17G  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 


It  was  a  harrowing,  heart-rending  sight. 


His  cheek  was  torn  entirely  away  from  the  bone  and  hung 
down  up(jai  his  neck  a  shredded,  quivering  mass  of  flesh.* 
The  tongue  and  throat  were  visible  tlirough  the  gaping 
wound,  aiid  poor  Fred's  legs  were  tooth-mauled,  lacerated  and 
mangled,  the  calf  of  one  leg  torn  entirely  away;  the  cords 
hung  in  shreds  and  the  white  bones  glared  through  the  bloody 
flesh.* 

Kate  closed  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  God!" 

Was  she  dreaming? 

Had  the  everlasting  pit  of  fiends  and  furies  yawned  and 
swallowed  her?     Was  this  Abaddon? 

She  heard  a  voice. 

"This  is  horrible." 

Kate  opened  her  eyes. 

Above  her  she  saw  tlie  soft  blue  ether,  the  hills  with  their 
crowning  of  green-topped  pines,  and  the  sun  with  never  a 
veil  between  its  bright  golden  face  and  this  maleficence,  and 
before  her  she  saw  Mrs.  Spleenless  wnth  hands  upraised  and 
tears  filling  her  tender  eyes. 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame!  What  an  outrage!  What  inliuman 
violation  of  the  law."     It  was  Mrs.  Spleenless  who  spoke. 

"Madam, such  language  will  not  be  permitted  in  this  camp 
or  in  the  state." 

Mrs.  Spleenless  turned  upon  the  speaker,  who  had  just 
entered  the  crowd.  Kate  also  looked.  She  saw  a  steel  face, 
with  dead,  icy-gray  eyes  pushed  far  back  from  flat  cheeks, 
under  shaggy,  overhanging  brows,  a  strong,  protruding  chin, 
compressed  wafer  lips  with  deep  lines  from  their  corners  to 
the  edge  of  the  lower  jawbone,  a  long,  pointed  nose,  and 
long,  white  hair. 

"And  who,"  asked  Mrs.  Spleenless,  "arc  you,  sir?" 

"I,  madam,  am  General  Winder." 

"Ah!" 

"  And  1  repeat  to  you  that  such  language  will  not  be  per- 
mitted in  this  state." 

•  A  fact,  as  testified  to  in  the  Wirz  Investigation. 


HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIX    HER.  177 

"And  I  repeat  to  you  that  this  shocking  brutality  is  a 
violation  of  the  law  of  the  state,  and  should  be  punished  as 
such." 

"To  what  do  you  refer,  madam?" 

"  This  hunting  and  rending  off  poor  humanity  by 
dogs." 

"  Madam,  you  are  misinformed." 

"  I  am  not." 

"  It  is  lawful." 

"What  is?" 

"  To  hunt  men  with  dogs." 

"No!     No!     No!"      ' 

"It  is!" 

"Here?" 

"Yes,  here!" 

"In  Georgia?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  here  in  Georgia! " 

"  No!     No!     No!     It  cannot  be." 

"  The  supreme  court  has  so  decided." 

"  What!     Here!     Here  in  Georgia?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  in  the  case  of  Moran  against  Davis.  Moran 
hired  a  negro  boy  owned  by  Davis.  The  boy  ran  away.  Moran 
pursued  him  with  dogs.  To  avoid  being  torn  to  pieces,  the 
boy  sprang  into  a  river  and  was  drowned.  Davis  sued  Moran 
for  the  value  of  the  boy,  and  the  supreme  court  said:  "It  is 
lawful  to  track  runaway  negroes  with  dogs  and  follow  them 
up  until  they  are  caught.  A  pursuit  in  this  mode  is  justifi- 
able." 

"  Sir,  I  am  ashamed  of  the  state." 

"  And  the  state,  madam,  is  ashamed  of  any  of  her  children 
who  do  not  uphold  the  means  necessary  to  its  success." 

"  Suppose,  sir,  that  the  North  should  pursue  our  escaped 
sons  in  the  same  way." 

"Ah!  lium!  That  is  different.  These  are  miserable  Yan- 
kees.    Invaders  of  our  soil." 

"  But  they  are  men." 

"  Mighty  poor  specimens  of  men." 

"Poor  or  not,  sir,  they  are  suffering,  dying  men." 


178  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 

"  Dair  dreatment  here  is  too  goot  for  dem."*  It  was  Wirz 
who  spoke. 

"These  sufferers  should  be  treated  humanely." 

"Madam,"  said  Winder,  "I  will  put  a  stop  to  this.  The 
whole  country  seems  turning-  to  the  Yankee." 

"  It  is  this  brutality  that  drives  us  there." 

"It  will  not  be  permitted.  No!  I  will  stop  it.  A  sense 
of  duty  demands  it. 

"  Save  the  lives  of  these  men  and  you  will  have  no  trouble 
in  that  direction — " 

"  Save  them  !  Save  them  !  Turn  them  out  healthy  and 
strong  to  destroy  our  sons  and  brothers!  The  noble,  suffer- 
ing sons  of  the  South  !  Madam,  this  pen  was  not  built  for 
that.  Nature  can  work  faster  than  the  bullet.  Here  we  can 
use  them  up  faster  than  any  general  in  the  field. "f 

"Sir,  God  cannot  bless  a  cause  that  uses  such  cruel,  bar- 
barous means." 

"  Ah,  madam,"  returned  Winder,  "  God's  blessing  is  with 
the  cause  that  wins."  Then,  turning  to  an  officer,  he  said  : 
"  Escort  this  woman  to  the  depot  and  see  that  she  never  enters 
the  camp  again.  There  has  already  been  too  much  sympathy 
expended  on  these  wretches." 

Fred  was  removed  to  the  hospital,  where  he  died  next 
mornincr.t     Kate  lono-ed  to  kiss  the  hem  of  the  brave  woman's 

o    +  ^ 

garments.  But  she  dare  not.  She  saw  the  train  in  which  she 
was  moving  ;  heard  the  laughter  festering  the  already  pol- 
luted air,  and  she  followed  on.  They  went  over  to  the  gate  ; 
an  officer  passed  them  through  to  the  inner  palisade.  They 
paused  before  the  second  sentry  box  from  the  south  gate. 
One  of  the  mouths  suggested,  "  Let's  go  up  and  get  a  good 
look  at  the  nasty  creatures.'*  Kate  halted.  Tiie  officer  who 
passed  them  was  a  friend  of  the  misses  on  the  platform.  See- 
ing Kate  in  their  trail,  he  said  nothing  to  her.  In  fact  hardly 
noticed  her,  and  after  she  passed  forgot  there  was  such  a  per- 
son  in  existence.     Kate   would  have  turned   and   left  them. 

•  A  fact. 

t  Statement  of  R.  W.  Drake.  7th  Indiana  Cavalry, 
t  A  fact. 


HER    SOUL    FROZE    WITHIN    HER.  179 

Biit  where  sliould  she  go  ?  Would  the  sentry  pass  her  with- 
out the  officer,  and  what  would  the  officer  say  seeing  her  with- 
out the  others  ?  Above  all  things  she  desired  to  see  and  know 
without  being  observed.  She  could  not  say  how,  and  why,  or 
when  the  knowledge  might  be  valuable,  nor  yet  the  purpose  to 
which  it  could  be  used,  but  she  felt  that  it  was  her  duty — a 
task  her  purpose  imposed  upon  her,  to  obtain  the  fullest  pos- 
sible information  about  all  locations  connected  with  the  prison 
and  its  routine.  All  this  had  led  her  so  far.  But  why  should 
she  join  the  grinning,  babbling  crowd  on  the  platform  by  the 
sentiy-box.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  was  more  open 
to  observation  thus  alone,  between  the  palisades,  than  she 
would  be  in  the  crowd  on  the  platform.  She  was  the  center 
of  two  storms — attraction  and  repulsion.  Then — oh  !  oh  !  she 
nearly  cried  out,  "  I  may  see  him  !  I  may  see  him  !  He  is 
there.  Oh,  Hal  !  Dear  Hal  !  "  and  she  dashed  at  the  ladder. 
Up  !  up  !  round  after  round.  She  thought  of  nothing  lighted 
by  the  sun,  nothing  under  the  heavens  but— "  Hal  !  "  She 
reached  the  platform.  The  palisade  top  touched  her  waist  ; 
and  she  stood  there,  the  boy  sentry  by  her  side,  the  chattering 
mouths  about  her,  looking  down  into  the  Andersonville  Prison 
Pen.  Looking  down  upon  hunger-suffering  and  woe  that 
should  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone.  Looking  down  upon  the 
helpless  victims  of  a  merciless  brutishness  that  shocked  the 
civilized  world. 


180  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOKNS. 


CHAPTER  XYIIT. 


ANDERSONVILLE. 


A  railroad  running  north  and  south,  between  Macon  and 
Americus  ;  four  or  five  straggling  rougii  board  structures 
resting  drowsily  on  the  yellow  sand  west  of  the  road  ;  twenty 
or  thirty  people  as  vapid  and  rickety  as  the  buildings — such 
was  Andersonville  before  the  Confederacy  made  it  synony- 
mous with  all  that  is  cruel  and  brutal.  West  of  the  railroad, 
and  but  a  few  dozen  yards  removed  from  it,  are  two  marshes 
in  which  spewings  of  toads  and  reptiles  and  swamp  ooze,  de- 
caying wood,  weeds  and  rank  grass  are  distilled  into  poison. 
The  marshes  are  fifteen  hundred  feet  apart — one  above  and 
one  below  the  town.  From  the  marshes  the  poison  runs  off  in 
two  leafy  brown,  sluggish  currents,  across  the  railroad  track, 
and  unite  fourteen  hundred  feet  east  of  it.  From  this  con- 
fluence of  poisons  the  stream,  in  lethargic  flow,  runs  nearly 
due  east,  between  hills  rising  with  gradual  swell  on  either  side 
until  it  is  lost  in  the  Little  Sweetwater,  less  than  a  mile 
below. 

Five  hundred  yards  from  the  confluence  of  the  two  little 
streams  that  ooze  out  of  the  marshes  there  is  another  mar-h. 
Around  this  marsh  the  Andersonville  prison  pen  was  con- 
structed. 

As  finally  completed,  the  pen  is  an  oblong,  seven  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  by  sixteen  hundred  and  twenty  feet,  the 
stream  creeping  throuofh  its  narrowest  part,  about  one  hundred 
feet  south  of  the  center. 

"Sid."  Winder  superintended  the  building  of  the  pen. 
When  he  began,  the  marsh  and  the  hills  that  rise  on  either  side 
of  it  were  clothed  with  heavy  timber. 

Early  in  December,  1863,  Winder  was  at  work,  the  people 


ANDERSONVILLE.  181 

of  the  surrounding  country  came  to  look  on.  The  whole  pop- 
ulation of  Auiericus,  a  little  town  a  few  miles  below,  were  on 
tiptoe  of  excitement. 

"  Got  so  many  Yanks  don't  know  what  to  do  with  they 
'uns  all." 

'•  Gwine  ter  build  a  prison  at  Andahsen." 

'•  Let's  gwo  !  " 

They  went. 

Among  those  who  went  was  Ambrose  Spencer.  "When  he 
arrived  negroes  were  digging  a  long  trench  ;  other  negroes 
were  fellino^  trees ;  others  ao-ain  were  hewing;  their  sides. 

"  What  are  these  for  ?  "  said  Spencer. 

Winder  looked.     "  What !  " 

*'  The  trees  hewed  on  two  sides." 

"  We  put  one  end  in  the  ground  in  that  trench,  the  hewed 
sides  close  together  ;  then  pack  dirt  about  them.  The  result 
will  be  a  close  pen  with  walls  twenty  feet  high  ! " 

"  Ah  !  " 

''  Reckon  that'll  hold  'em  !  " 

"  Going  to  erect  barracks  or  shelter  of  any  kind  ?  " 

"  No  !  The  dratted  Yanks  who  will  be  put  here  will  have 
no  need  of  them  !  " 

"  Why,  then,  are  you  cutting  down  the  trees  ?  They  will 
prove  a  shelter  to  the  prisoners  from  the  heat  of  the  sun  at 
least !  " 

"  That  is  just  why  I  am  cutting  them  down  ;  I  am  going 
to  build  a  pen  here  that  will  kill  more  Yankees  than  can  be 
destroyed  in  the  front."* 

"  Sid  "  Winder  turned  away  and  Jim  Scrogs  removed  his 
"  cawn  cob  "  long  enough  to  suggest  :  "  That  air  mawsh  in 
the  center  o'  the  pin  '11  help  kill  'em  mighty  fass." 

♦Testimony  of  Ambrose  Spencer  of  Americus,  Ga  ,  in  the  Wirz  trial. 

Note. — The  author  has  produced  the  statement  as  it  appears  in  the  published  report 
of  the  trial,  omitting  the  oath  that  accompanied  it.  If  such  was  tlie  object  in  construct- 
ing the  pen  it  fearfully  served  the  murderous  purpose.  The  total  number  of  enlisted  men 
killed  in  action  on  the  field  of  battle  or  by  the  hands  of  guerillas  during  the  four  years' 
war  was  44,233.  The  deaths  in  Andersonville,  into  which  the  first  prisoners  were  taken 
February  24,  1864,  were  13,412.  Of  these,  9,479  died  in  the  six  months  between  February 
24  and  September  21.  If  the  "  killed  in  action  "  were  equally  distributed  over  the  last 
three  and  a  half  years  of  the  war,  then  the  threat  of  "Winder  was  made  good.  Anderson- 
ville did  kill  more  Union  soldiers  than  were  killed  at  the  front. 


182  BRISTLING    ^VITH    THORNS. 

"  But  why,"  said  Spencer,  "  don't  they  put  the  pen  below 
or  above  the  marsh  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  ter,  I  reckon." 

"  That  water  would  kill  a  dog." 

"  Yaas." 

"There's  Little  Sweetwater,  five  feet  deep  and  twenty  feet 
wide,  not  five  hundred  feet  from  where  they  are  putting  the 
pen,  and  not  a  marsh  on  it.  Why  don't  they  put  the  prison 
there  ? "* 

"  This  '11  sarve  bettah,  reckon  !  " 

"They  could  go  below  the  marsh  and  take  in  both  creeks. 
Little  Sweetwater  and  this  Double  Branch  run." 

"  Yaas,  they  uns  could." 

"  Then  they  would  have  an  abundance  of  water  for  cook- 
ing, bathing,  every  purpose,  and  good,  healthy  ground  ?" 
'  "Yaas." 

"  Why  in  the  world  don't  they  put  the  pen  there  ?  " 

"  This  yere  sarve  bettah,  reckon." 

"  It  looks  like  a  purpose  to  kill  !  " 

"  Yaas  ;  kill  the  mizable  coots  o'  Yanks  heah  quick.  Bettah 
thet  nor  gittin  shot  wi'  um." 

Spencer  went  away.  The  construction  progressed.  The 
pen  was  completed. 

The  marsh  lay  a  festering  sore  in  its  center. 

Then  came  the  captives.  Eight  hundred  first  from  New 
Hampshire,  Connecticut  and  Michigan,  weary,  worn  and 
hungry  from  prolonged  travel,  cooped  like  beasts  in  freight 
cars. 

Down  from  the  depot  they  marched,  wearily  on  through 
the  shifting  sands,  amid  the  jeers  and  taunts  of  a  gaping 
crowd. 

The  gate  opened. 

The  stockade  swallowed  them. 

Then  they  saw  walls  of  pine,  a  slimy  brown  creek,  six  feet 
wide  and  five  inches  deep,  struggling  through  the  soft  mud, 

*  Little  Sweetwater  Creek  is  not  located  In  any  of  the  narratives  of  Anderson ville 
prison  life,  but  Its  position  and  character  is  truly  described  in  the  foregoing  statement  of 
Ambrose  Spencer.    It  is  a  sweet,  clear,  abundant  stream  of  water. — [The  Author. 


ANDERSONVILLE.  183 

and  a  waste  of  yellow  sand  dottea  with  huge  stumps.  And 
there  were  no  buildings,  no  sheds,  no  tents,  no  shelter,  no  con- 
cealment from  pelting  storms,  no  screen  from  the  blazing  sun. 

That  was  the  loth  day  of  February,  1864. 

"  A  desert,"  cried  one. 

Wait !     A  desert  is  mercy  to  this. 

The  volume  of  captives  swelled. 

The  heroic,  plucked  from  the  front  of  battle. 

The  daring,  tricked  by  guerillas. 

The  devoted,  who  saci-ificed  liberty  to  save  a  brigade  or  a 
division  of  an  army. 

They  rolled  into  the  pen,  a  continuous  stream  of  captive 
humanity. 

The  deadly  dews  drenched  them.  The  lightning  flashed 
in  their  unscreened  faces. 

Hungry,  emaciated  and  torn  with  pain  ;  shelterless,  tat- 
tered and  naked,  the  pitiless  storms  beat  down  upon  them  and 
they  froze. 

The  fierce  rays  of  the  tropical  sun  followed  the  storm  and 
they  consumed. 

Human  ingenuity  exhausted  itself.  They  made  storm  cov- 
ers of  blankets  and  of  coats.   • 

They  burrowed  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  pursued  them  ;  searched  them  out ;  penetrated 
them. 

The  eight  hundred  became  thirty  thousand ! 

The  Confederate  guards  camped  on  the^  stream  that  flowed 
through  the  stockade. 

The  water  flowed  from  the  wolves  to  the  lambs. 

It  was  morbific  at  first. 

The  Confederates  camped  on  it  and  it  became  virulently 
septic. 

The  soil  was  saturated  with  their  garbage,  their  offal  and 
their  filth. 

The  storm  is  a  scavenger  and  a  creek  is  a  sewer. 

The  scavenger  swept  the  excrement,  the  washings  of  rot- 
tenness, of  carrion,  of  compost,  down  through  the  stockade. 

It  was  bilge  water  nastified. 


184  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Hideous  spume  ! 

The  creek  was  a  serpent  breathing  death.  Its  mouth  full 
of  corrosive  poison. 

The  earth  and  the  air — boundless  creation — was  full  of  life- 
giving  water  and  thirty  thousand  Union  prisoners  were  con- 
demned to  drink  of  Double  Branch. 

Double  Branch  was  a  Confederate  executioner. 

Then  came  the  morass. 

A  morass  is  an  infinity  of  craters  ejecting  pestilent  vapors. 

Slime  and  green  scum  were  already  upon  the  morass  in  the 
stockade. 

The  scavenger — the  storm — carried  down  upon  it  the  sew- 
age of  the  pen. 

It  fermented. 

It  became  a  mass  of  putrefaction. 

Out  of  putridity  came  a  loathsome  life — maggots. 

And  the  hot  sun  was  upon  it  all. 

The  earth  abhors  nastiness. 

It  flings  it  off  in  effluvium. 

The  subtle,  noisome  exhalations  loaded  the  air. 

Then  came  scurvy. 

That  is  born  out  of  storm  and  exposure  and  want  of  proper 
food. 

Faces  puffed. 

Syncope  from  slight  exertions  followed,  with  weak  vision, 
blindness  and  inability  to  sleep;  then  dysentery. 

Old  sores  opened. 

Broken  bones  that  had  united  came  apart  and  grated  to- 
gether within  the  body. 

Horrible  music! 

Mouths  and  throats  and  bodies  ulcerated. 

Teeth  loosened  and  fell  out. 

Gums,  nostrils,  bronchial  tubes  and  intestines  poured  out 
streams  of  offensive  blood. 

Limbs  rotted  off. 

Worms  devoured  living  bodies. 

The  fetid  breath  of  disease  aggravated  the  noisome  exha- 
lations from  the  creek  and  the  morass. 


ANDEESOXVILLE.  185 

Poisoned  by  the  earth;  poisoned  by  the  air;  poisoned  by 
the  water;  tormented  with  vermin;  irritated  by  gnats,  mos- 
quitoes and  winged  ants;  devoured  by  maggots;  blackened 
with  smoke;  befouled  by  mud;  with  matted  hair^  shelterless 
in  the  midst  of  mills  and  lumber  piles;  thirsting  for  water 
with  limpid  streams  but  a  few  yards  away;  perishing  for  fuel 
while  boundless  forests  nodded  to  them  from  the  surrounding 
hills;  rotting  for  vegetables  while  potatoes  blossomed  and 
corn  tasseled  before  their  eyes;  goaded  to  madness  by  brutal- 
ity; writhing  in  helpless  impotence  under  taunts  and  jeers 
and  murderings;  perishing  by  hundreds,  by  thousands;  with 
death  marching  by  their  side — a  putrid  horror;  living  and 
dying  these  martyrs  stood  firm,  and  to  the  end  the  shattered 
fragment  of  tlie  wreck  never  faltered  in  their  devotion  to  the 
American  Union. 


ISG  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 


CHAPTER  XTX. 


A    DAY    OF    horrors! 


When  Kate  stood  upon  the  sentry  platform  she  saw  clouds 
of  vaporous  stench  floating  in  the  rarified  atmosphere  low 
down  over  the  inmates  of  the  pen.  The  pungent  gases 
assailed  her  nostrils.  They  were  foul  and  sickening.  She 
was  oppressed,  but  she  had  no  active  sense  except  sight.  Her 
eyes  penetrated  the  multitude;  man  after  man  tliey  devoured 
from  head  to  foot.  She  saw  their  matted  hair,  their  dirt  and 
smoke-begrimed  persons,  their  rags.  She  saw  them  sitting, 
standing,  walking,  reclining.  She  saw  the  fierce  sun  beating 
down  upon  them.  But,  in  the  shifting  multitude  she  nowhere 
saw  the  one  man  she  sought.  An  ague  assailed  her.  Her 
eyes  grew  dim.  "0-u!  o-u!"  she  murmured,  and  shivered. 
It  was  an  awful  sight.  Longing,  suffering,  agony,  hunger, 
thirst  and  despair. 

The  chatterers  looked  over  the  palisade  a  few  moments 
and  turned  away.  Kate  too  looked  with  eagerness  of  love  to 
discover  one  form. 

From  the  platform  through  the  gate,  across  between  the 
palisades,  through  the  outer  gate,  jabbering  and  clacking,  the 
girls  went,  Kate  at  their  heels.  At  the  gate  an  officer  took 
them  in  escort. 

Between  the  gate  and  the  corner  of  the  palisade  a  crowd 
of  men  approached. 

The  clanking  of  iron  rose  above  the  loquacious  din. 

The  crowd  drew  nearer. 

The  girls  paused  and  laughed. 

Kate  saw  and  congealed. 

She  saw  a  huge  iron  ball  and  six  men  on  each  side  of  it. 

Six  on  the  right,  six  on  the  left. 


A    DAY    OF    HORRORS.  187 

The  six  on  the  right  had  each  an  iron  band  riveted  to  his 
left  ankle. 

To  the  iron  band  there  was  riveted  one  end  of  a  heavy 
iron  chain. 

The  other  end  of  the  chain  was  riveted  to  iron  bands  about 
the  ball. 

The  six  on  the  left  were  fastened  in  the  same  way,  only 
the  band  about  the  ankle  of  these  was  on  the  right  leg. 

She  saw  that  they  were  all  barefooted,  many  of  them  with- 
out coats,  and  that  the  garments  of  all  were  torn  and  frayed. 

There  were  five  hats  and  caps  among  the  dozen  men — 
and — 

Then  she  saw  that  a  broad  iron  band  was  riveted  about 
the  neck  of  every  one  of  them  and  that  these  bands  were 
connected  by  heavy  chains  from  one  to  the  other. 

Thus  the  twelve  men  were  linked  in  a  double  circle  of 
iron.* 

One  of  the  chains  touched  Kate's  ankle. 

The  iron,  lieated  in  the  sun,  burned  her  like  a  half  dead 
coal. 

Day  and  night — through  heat  and  cold — these  men  were 
bound. 

The  tropical  sun,  through  the  long  summer  days,  flamed 
down  upon  the  iron. 

The  iron  absorbed  the  heat. 

The  bands  grew  tepid,  then  lukewarm,  then  blood  hot, 
then  burning. 

These  hot  bands  chafed,  they  blistered,  they  cauterized, 
they  roasted. 

And  when  night  came,  and  the  dews  fell,  and  the  storm 
descended,  the  iron  bands  were  turned  into  avalanches  of  ice 
upon  their  tender  flesh. 

Kate  was  blinded  by  pity  and  indignation. 

Then  she  saw  that  one  of  the  twelve  was  carried  by  some 
of  the  others. 

"Where  are  they  going?"  asked  Jule  of  the  escorting 
officer. 

*  A  fact,  testified  to  by  numerous  witnesses. 


188  BRISTLING    WITH    TUOIINS. 

"  To  the  blacksmith  shop." 

"What  for?" 

"To  cut  the  bands  off  one  of  tliem." 

"Which  one  ^" 

"  The  one  tiiey  are  carryinjr.^' 

"  Why  don't  they  make  him  walk  ?" 

"  He's  got  a  parole.     He's  dead  !  " 

Wirz  on  his  gray  horse  was  beside  the  officer  and  heard 
his  remark. 

"  Yes,  dot's  de  way  to  barole  dem."* 

"  What  have  they  been  doing  ?"  asked  Miss  Begrime. 

"Some  of  them  grumbled  about  their  food." 

"Ought  to  give  them  pound  cake." 

Luce  asked  if  the  chained  men  were  all  grumblers. 

"  No,"  responded  Escort.  "  Some  of  them  are  chained  for 
trying  to  escape." 

Luce  opened  her  eyes  ;  "  Why,  I  didn't  see  any  of  them 
torn  much." 

"  No,  you  see  they  were  caught  tunneling." 

"  Tunneling  ! " 

"Yes,  the  rascals  in  there  pretend  to  dig  wells.  They  say 
the  water  is  not  good  enough  for  them.  Then  they  dig  !  dig  ! 
dig  ! " 

"  But  how  does  that  help  them  ?" 

"Why,  when  they  get  the  wells  down  a  ways,  they  open  a 
hole  in  the  side  and  burrow  under  the  stockade." 

"  Don't  the  guards  see  the  dirt  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  The  cunning  scoundrels  work  at  the  bur- 
row in  the  night  and  drop  the  dirt  into  the  well." 

"Then  !    then  !" 

"  Then  in  the  day  time  they  lift  out  the  dirt  they  have 
dropped  in  during  the  night — making  believe  all  the  time  they 
are  going  deeper  with  their  wells.  " 

"  How  mean  it  is  to  give  our  dear  boys  so  much  trouble  !  " 

"  Do  they  get  away  ?  " 

♦Beverly  C.  Denham,  1st  sergeant  Co.  A,  9th  Minnesota,  testlflcs  that  a  man  In  the 
Btockade  asked  WIrz  for  a  parole.  Wlrz  struck  lilin  on  the  head  with  a  revolver  and 
killed  him,  and  remarked  to  a  Confederate  officer,  "  That's  the  way  to  parole  them." 


A    DAY    OF    HORROES.  189 

"Ha  !  ha  !     Not  frequently,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  How  do  you  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  discover  them  before  they  get  out." 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  We  have  men  in  there — Southern  men." 

"Make  believe  prisoners  ?" 

"  Yes  !  and  they  tell  us  all  about  it.  We  let  them  work 
themselves  tired.  Build  up  their  hopes  of  Yankee  land. 
Then,  just  as  they  think  they  are  going  to  bid  us  good-bye, 
and—" 

"  You  catch  'em." 

"Yes!" 

"  Oh,  how  nice  !  And  it's  so  smart  of  our  dear  boys,  isn't 
it  ?     Do  they  try  it  often  ?  " 

"  Burrowing  all  the  time." 

"  Oh  !     Oh  !     How  funny  !  " 

The  exclamation  was  made  by  little  Blue  eyes. 

They  had  reached  the  guard-house  and  were  standing  be- 
fore it. 

Kate's  eyes  had  been  riveted  on  the  glowing  sand.  Her 
mind  was  confused  and  dead  to  all  surroundings.  The  atroci- 
ties she  had  witnessed  rained  like  blows  of  a  hammer  upon 
her  brain. 

Her  head  ached. 

Her  heart  ached. 

Her  limbs  were  growing  numb. 

She  was  following  blindly. 

The  exclamation  roused  her. 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  two  men  sitting  on  the  earth 
bent  forward  and  nearly  double. 

Then  she  saw  two  posts  in  the  ground,  a  few  inches  apart, 
strongly  connected  at  the  top  and  bottom.  Between  the  two 
was  a  space,  a  slot. 

Several  feet  distant  were  two  other  posts,  similarly  planted 
and  with  a  slot  between. 

The  two  slots  faced  and  grimaced  at  each  other. 

A  board  had  been  dropped  in   the   slots,  the   lower  edge 


190  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

rested  on  the  ground.  On  the  upper  edge  four  notches  were 
cut. 

These  notches  were  half  circles. 

Each  half  circle  was  half  the  size  of  a  human  ankle. 

Another  board  was  placed  on  top  of  this  with  notches  clit 
on  the  lower  side  to  match  the  notches  in  the  first  board. 

On  the  top  of  this  second  board  were  notches  half  the  size 
of  a  wrist. 

Then  came  a  third  board,  with  notches  on  the  lower  side 
to  match  the  notches  on  the  upper  edge  of  the  second  board 

On  the  upper  edge  of  this  third  board  notches  were  cut 
half  the  size  of  a  human  neck. 

Over  these  a  fourth  board  fitted  to  match. 

In  this  frame  of  torture  two  men  were  riveted. 

Their  ankles  were  j^laced  in  the  notches  of  the  first  board, 
and  the  second  board  placed  on  top  of  them. 

Their  wrists  were  then  fixed  in  the  notches  on  the  top  edge 
of  the  second  board  and  the  third  board  fitted  over  them. 

Their  necks  were  then  placed  in  the  larger  notches  on  the 
upper  edge  of  the  third  board  then  the  fourth  board  was  placed 
on  top  and  bolted  down. 

In  this  torturing  position  the  two  men  sat.*  Their  ankles, 
wrists  and  necks  immovably  fixed. 

Their  heads  were  uncv^vei'ed  and  the  flame  of  the  sun  was 
beating  up(;n  them. 

The  sun  was  a  fire. 

Their  skulls  were  pans. 

Their  brains  in  the  pans  were  sizzling. 

One  poor  sufferer  wore  no  shirt  or  coat. 

The  other  was  coatless  and  his  shirt  was  sadly  rent. 

Their  faces  and  bodies  were  covered  with  dirt. 

Great  green  flies  stabbed  their  quivering  backs. 

Winged  ants  and  flies  swarmed  about  their  heads  ;  marched 
into  their  nostrils  and  filled  their  ears.  The  flies  and  ants 
pricked. 

They  punctured. 

They  stung. 

»  A  fact. 


SHE    RAISED    HER   DRESS    AXD    WIPED    IT    CAREFULLY   OFF, 


A    DAY    OF    HORRORS.  191 

f  hey  stabbed. 

They  tortured. 

The  victims  were  powerless  to  drive  them  away. 

They  writhed  in  impotent  helplessness. 

The  girls  seeing  the  men  and  the  flies,  laughed,  and  Miss 
Luce  asked  Escort,  "  What  are  they  in  here  for  ?  " 

"One  for  trying  to  escape.  The  other  for  buying  veg- 
etables." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  Look  !  "  said  Miss  Luce  ;  "  see  that  big  green 
fly  right  on  the  end  of  his  nose  !  See  !  See  !  He's  trying 
to  stick  his  tongue  out  at  it !  He  !  he  !  he  !  oh  !  His  tongue 
cannot  reach  it  !  See  him  wriggle  his  face  !  See  him  squirm  ! 
He!  he!  oh!     Isn't  it  funny  ?" 

The  prisoner's  face  was  writhing  under  the  torture. 

Kate  could  endure  no  more. 

She  walked  up  to  the  tortured  face  and  brushed  away  the 
flies. 

"Hiah,  yeu  !  "  shouted  the  sentry  ;  "git  away  from  ther  !  " 

Kate  moved  back,  and  Miss  Begrime,  who  stood  nearest  to 
one  of  them,  spat  fairly  on  his  naked  back.* 

Kate's  hands  were  clenched  ;  her  nails  were  cutting  into 
her  flesh  ;  her  soul  was  a  torrent  of  indignant  words.  She 
felt  that  she  could  smite  that  girl  ;  could  rend  her  ;  could 
trample  her  under  her  feet. 

The  girls  were  there  and  the  escort  and  the  sentry,  and  Kate 
had  been  warned  away  from  the  prisoner.  She  had  witnessed 
in  silence  and  inaction,  but  this  was  the  drop  that  overflowed. 

She  could  not  endure  and  live. 

She  marched  straight  up  to  the  slime-covered  back,  and, 
heedless  of  the  "  Git,  yeu  !  Git,  y-e-u  !  "  of  the  sentry,  she 
raised  her  dress  and  wiped  it  carefully  ofi". 

She  would  have  done  it  if  the  path  had  bristled  with  death. 

Then  she  turned  and  walked  away  up  the  road  to  the  depot. 

At  the  depot  she  passed  within  a  foot  of  the  Union  team- 
ster, but  he  made  no  sign. 

♦Joseph  Powell,  an  East  Tennesseean,  who  was  a  prisoner  at  Andersonville,  testi- 
fied that  the  women  there  surpassed 'the  men  In  bitterness,  and  that  a  Mrs-.  Jones  spat 
down  on  the  helpless  prisoners. 
13 


102  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOKNS. 

On  the  platform  she  saw  a  thermometer  and  it  marked  102 
decrees,  in  the  shade,  burning  heat  for  the  stocks  and  chain 
gang. 

Tliere,  too,  she  saw  Mrs.  Spleenless  under  guard,  and  she 
heard  her  voice. 

She  was  pointing  to  a  wagon  in  which  meal  was  being 
loosely  shoveled. 

"Is  not  that  the  wagon  that  carried  out  the  dead  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  have  not  cleansed  it  ?  " 

*'  No  !  " 

"And  you  shovel  meal  into  it  after  it  has  carried  human 
bodies  in  the  condition  that  those  were,  and  feed  that  meal  to 
the  prisoners  ?"* 

"  Yes,    what  of  it  ?  " 

"  That  of  itself  would  kill  them.  It  is  monstrous  !  mon- 
strous !  " 

"  It's  good  enough  for  the  Yanks  ! " 

"  Merciful  heavens  !  " 

How  Kate  loved  that  woman.  How  she  would  have  loved 
to  press  her  lips  to  her  aged  hands,  to  have  said  one  word  to 
her.     But  she  dare  not. 

She  walked  slowly  across  the  track. 

She  found  a  path. 

With  tottering  steps  she  followed  it,  down  across  a  small 
creek — the  south  branch  of  the  prison  stream — on  over  the 
knoll  ;  down  until  she  came  to  a  larger  stream..  Here  the 
path  turned  to  the  right,  up  the  stream  and  through  the  pine 
forest,  where  it  opened  into  a  broader  road.  Then  came  a 
clearing  and  fences.     At  last  houses. 

Kate  paused. 

She  fixed  the  scene  in  her  mind  ;  A  broad,  sandy  road  ; 
a  large  house  ;  a  few  scattered  barns  ;  a  collection  of  negro 
cabins  ;  a  setting  of  heavy  pines  ;  and  the  fading  light  of  the 
sun  over  all. 

She  found  a  path  leading  along  the  skirt  of  the  forest  to 
the  rear  of  the  cabins.     Following  this,  she  soon  stood  at  the 

*A  fact. 


A    DAY    OF    IIOKRORS.  193 

end  of  the  southernmost  cabin.  Twilight  was  rapidly  fading 
into  night.  Kate  was  waiting.  She  heard  a  footstep.  It 
approached.  It  was  passing  close  by  her.  Kate  whispered, 
"Please!" 

It  was  a  woman,  and  colored,  she  addressed. 

The  woman  paused. 

"  Are  you  Mansa?" 

"  Yaas,  mistus." 

Kate  laid  her  hands  on  the  woman's  shoulders,  placed  her 
lips  close  to  her  ear  and  whispered: 

"  Are  you  Jupiter's  wife?" 

She  could  feel  the  strong  form  trembling  under  her  hai.ids. 
The  girl  looked  suddenly  about  the  corners  of  the  cabin, 
brought  her  face  back  close  to  Kate  and  whispered,  "  Yaas, 
mistus." 

"  Saltire's  Jupiter." 

"Yaas,  mistus." 

Kate  threw  her  arms  about  the  black  neck  and  whispered 
in  her  ear:  "Mansa,  I  bring  you  good  news  from  Jupiter!" 

Mansa  threw  up  her  hands.  "  Bress  de  good  Mawstah  in 
heaben!" 

It  was  only  a  whisper,  but  if  it  had  been  the  thunder  of  a 
cannon  Kate  would  have  never  heard  it.  Nature  was  ex- 
hausted. The  agonies  of  the  day  had  beaten  the  life  out  of 
her.  Her  arms  relaxed  from  Mansa's  neck,  and  she  dropped 
senseless  to  the  earth. 
13 


VJ4:  131USTL1-NG     WITH    THUKNS. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


"Oh!  ohi  I  tiiiks  yo  wur  an  angel  an' ye'd  done  flow'd 
'way." 

These  were  the  first  words,  that  greeted  Kate  when  she 
opened  her  eyes.  There  was  a  dim  light  in  the  room  and  a 
volume  of  resinous  smoke.  The  light,  the  smoke,  and  the 
aroma  were  from  a  little  torch  of  pitch  pine.  By  the  light 
Kate  saw  she  was  in  a  cabin,  reclining  on  a  bed,  and  that  a 
colored  woman  was  bending  over  her.  The  woman  was 
Mansa.  Kate  looked  at  the  face  and  was  strengthened.  Then 
the  scenes  of  the  day,  like  a  hideous  phantom,  rose  up  before 
her  and  she  trembled. 

*'ls  ye  cold,  honey?"  whispered  Mansa. 

"Oh.  no!" 

"  Don't  be  askeer  hiar!  " 

"Oh,  no! — but  I  have  seen — oh!  oh!  what  I  have  seen!" 
And  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
vision. 

"Been  obah  ter  de  pen,  honey?" 

"Yes!  and— oh!  oh!" 

''Pow'ful  bad  dah,  honey!  Pow'ful  bad  dah!  Now  doan' 
yer  say  nudder  wud,  honey,  till  me  come  baak." 

Mansa  smoothed  Kate's  hair,  bathed  her  forehead  with 
cool  water,  drew  a  cover  over  her,  and  went  out  of  the  cabin. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  returned  with  a  steaming  cup  of  tea. 
Kate  looked  surprised.     Mansa  ol)served  it. 

"  De  mistus  mighty  po',  lioney;  mighty  po' — an'  old  maws 
git  dis  year  at  Sabanah." 

Kate  drank  the  grateful  stimulant  quickly.  It  refreshed 
her.     She  lav  a  few  moments  with  her  eves  closed.     Then  she 


**  T    KNOWED    YER    BY    THE    PRISON  SMELL."  195 

sprang  up.  "Oh,  dear!  Poor  Mansa!  How  cruel  of  me! 
How  thoughtless!  And  you  want  to  know  so  bad.  Forgive 
me,  Mansa!" 

"  Po'  chile,  I  done  know'd  yo'  was  baad.  An'  I  done 
wait  so  lang,  mistus,  so  lang.  Leel  mo'  no  'count,  mistus!  no 
'count,  mistus.  I'ze  oany  a  niggah,  mistus;  oany  a  po'  niggah, 
mistus,  and  niggahs  mus  hole  dey  self,  mistus,  ai>d  wait;  wait, 
mistus,  de  comin'  ob  de  Lawd!  An'  yo's  so  tiad,  honey — so 
tiad.     I  kin  wait,  mistus!" 

Kate  held  one  of  Mansa's  black  hands  in  her  own.  She 
heard  Mansa's  words,  calm  and  patient.  They  touched  her 
heart  more  than  any  impatient  eagerness.  But  in  the  black 
hand  she  held  there  was  an  eloquence  of  anxiety.  It  trembled 
in  her  grasp.  Kate  drew  it  to  her,  touched  her  lips  against  it, 
laid  her  burning  cheek  upon  it.  And  Mansa  bent  over  her 
and  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"Mistus,  Lawd  love  yo'!  Youze  no  po'  white,  honey!  No 
po'  low  down,  honey!  dey  uns  nebbah  doan  keer  fo'  we  uns 
dat  way.     No,  mistus,  nebbah!" 

Then  Kate  drew  Mansa  down  beside  her  on  the  bed,  and 
in  whispered  words  told  her  the  story, 

Mansa  sat  there  shaking  like  a  leaf. 

When  she  heard  of  Jupiter  going  to  the  old  home  she 
sobbed  aloud: 

"  Po'  Jupe!  Po'  Jupe!     How  misapint  him  be! " 

Before  Kate  had  half  finished  Mansa  had  dropped  on  her 
knees  before  her.  Her  strong  hands  were  clasped  over  Kate's 
lap  and  her  great  eyes  riveted  on  her  face. 

When  Kate  finished  Mansa  stared  at  her — one — two — 
three  minutes  in  mute  wonder.     Then  she  found  tongue: 

"  Mistus,"  she  said,  in  soft,  reverent  tones,  "  De  Lawd 
Him  will  sho'  bress  yo'.     Sho',  honey!     Sho'!  " 

Not  a  word  about  Jupiter.  Her  admiration  for  this  brave 
woman  swallowed  up  every  other  thought. 

Kate's  hands  dropped  on  her  lap.  Mansa  stroked  them, 
patted  them  softly,  laid  her  black  cheeks  against  them,  patted 
them  again. 

"Deah  honey!     Deah  honey!     An'  yo'm  a  Yonkee." 


196  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 


"Yes,  I  am  Northern  born.     They  call  us  all  Yankees." 
"  An'  do   de   deah   Lawd   make   yo'uns   all  dis  yeah  way 


lik 


9  " 


"  Mansa,  you  know  it  is  for  my  husband." 

"Fo'  true,  mistus,  but  I'ze  done  tink  dat  no  one  gits  de 
hawt  fo'  dat  resk." 

"  Didn't  Jupiter  take  a  greater  risk  for  you  when  he  went 
to  the  old  home  for  you  ?  Isn't  he  taking  as  great,  perhaps 
a  greater,  risk  now  in  coming  for  you  again  ?" 

Then  the  full  flood  of  Mansa's  thoughts  turned  away  from 
Kate  to  .Jupiter. 

"  How  does  him  look  ?  "  "  Where  did  Kate  see  him  first  ?" 
"  How  long  does  she  know  him  ?  "  "  Do  him  tawk  o'  Mansa?  " 
"  Wliat  has  he  been  doing  ?"  •  "  Is  him  happy  ?  "  The  ques- 
tions''How  does  him  look?"  -'Do  him  talk  of  Mansa?" 
"  Is  him  happy  ?"  she  repeated  over  and  over  again.  And 
Kate  poured  into  her  eager,  thirsting  heart  a  volume  of  infor- 
mation, that  was  balm  for  the  waiting  years. 

Then  Kate  told  Mansa  of  the  soldier  who  was  to  come. 
This  roused  Mansa  to  action.  She  said  that  the  master  was 
absent,  that  the  mistress  was  bed-ridden  and  she  must  make 
instant   arrano-ements  to   have  an  a2:ed  colored  woman  o-o  in 

o  o  c^ 

and  watch  by  the  sick  woman  while  she  guarded  the  road  and 
brought  the  soldier  to  the  cabin. 

"  Can  you  arrange  it  ?     Will  not  your  mistress  suspect  ?  " 

"  Deed,  honey,  I  kin  dat.  I'ze  pow'ful  misable  !  pow'fui 
misable  I  is.  It  done  bin  comin'  dis  yeah  lang  time,  lang 
time."  And  Mansa's  chin  and  eyelids  dropped,  the  light  faded 
out  of  her  eyes.  She  raised  her  hand  to  her  cheek  and  her 
head  fell  over  on  it.  It  was  a  transformation,  sudden  and 
laughable.     Kate  laughed. 

Mansa  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes,  saw  Kate 
laughing;  her  lower  jaw  lifted  ;  her  mouth  spread  across  her 
face. 

"K-i-i-yah  !  so — pow' — ful  mis' — ble,  I  is — pow — ful  !  1 
tell  mistus  dat !  and  she  marched  out  of  the  cabin  door,  clos- 
ing it  behind  her. 

An  hour  passed — two — three.     Kate  was  in  despair. 


"  I    KXOWED    TER    BY   THE    PRISON    SMELL."  197 

"He  will  never  come  !     Oh  !   why  did  I  trust  hiin  !  " 

Without  was  profound  silence. 

It  was  oppressive. 

Waiting  became  unbearable. 

Kate  stood  up.     She  must  go  out. 

She  searched  for  her  bonnet. 

She  found  it. 

She  turned  toward  the  door. 

The  door  was  open,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  a  man. 

It  was  the  teamster. 

Kate  was  startled.     She  nearly  cried  out  in  surprise. 

The  soldier  raised  his  finger. 

There  is  mute  eloquence  in  a  finger. 

The  exclamation  died  out  on  Kate's  lips. 

The  door  was  closed  and  the  soldier  stood  beside  her. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  "  and  then  put  out  the  light." 

He  handed  Kate  a  little  chip. 

She  held  it  to  the  light  and  read — 

"  Dear  Kate,  God  Bless  You  J     God  Bless  You  !    Hal." 

That  was  all.  Again  Kate  read  it.  She  pressed  it  to  her 
lips.     She  pressed  it  to  her  breast. 

"  Oh  !     Thank  God  !  "  she  whispered,  "  Thank  God  ! " 

Then  the  soldier  spoke. 

"  You  have  read  it  ?  " 

"  Yes — and — oh  !  oh  !  I  do  thank  you  !  I  do  thank  you  ! 
Long  as  I  live  I  will  bless  you  !  bless  you  !  bless  you  ! " 

"  And  you  don't  despise  me  ?" 

''  You  !     You  !  " 

The  soldier  had  extinguished  the  light. 

"  Yes,  you  don't." 

"  Why,  why,  should  I  despise  you — you  of  all  men  in  the 
world  ?  " 

"For  accepting  a  parole  and  working  for  the  infernal 
rebs." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know.  I  never  thought  of  it.  I  supposed 
you  were  compelled  to." 

"Well,  not  exactly.  T  might  have  refused.  To  tell  the 
truth  I  sought  the  parole." 


198  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 

"  Oh  ! " 

"Dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  don't  think  hard  of  me!  Don't, 
please  don't." 

"Dear  friend,  I  do  not.  I  can  never  think  ill  of  a  friend 
of  my  precious  Hal — and  — least  of  all,  of  you." 

"  Thank  you.     You  will  permit  me  to  tell  you." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it.  But  it  is  not  necessary.  If 
you  are  satisfied,  it  is  all  right,  dear  friend.  I  am  sure  it  must 
be  so.     I  know  it  must  be  so." 

"I  do  wish  to  speak  of  it.  My  terra  of  service — three 
years — has  expired.  Just  before  the  battle  in  which  I  was 
captured  I  heard  of  the  death  of  my  wife — " 

"  Dear  friend  !  " 

"  My  wife  is  dead — and  I  have  three  motherless  children." 

"  Poor  orphans  !  " 

"  They  have  no  relatives  ;  no  one  to  care  for  them  but  me. 
Not  one  in  the  world." 

"The  government,  dear  friend,  and  all  patriots." 

"Governments,  dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  have  short  memories 
and  are  near  sighted." 

"But  they  cannot  forget  the  soldiers'  children." 

"They  have  done  it  and  will  do  it  again.  While  we  serve 
the  Government  it  sees  us.  When  we  cease  to  serve  it,  it  be- 
comes deaf  and  blind  and  parsimonious." 

"  Oh  !  " 

"  Governments  are  soulless — and  children  need  soul,  which 
government  is  incapable  of  supplying  if  it  would.  For  this 
reason  T  have  sought  to  preserve  my  life  for  my  children." 

"Poor  sufferer!" 

"  It  is  not  aiding  the  Confederacy.  They  C(Hild  have  the 
same  work  done  by  negroes  who  are  not  subject  to  military 
duty." 

"Surely!" 

"  I  saw  my  comrades  dying  by  hundreds  every  day,  and  I 
knew  if  I  remained  in  the  pen  I  could  not  survive." 

"  Oh,  how  awful  it  is." 

"Awful!  That  is  a  faint  word.  All  words  are  faint  to 
express    the    horrors    of   that    pen.      It    cannot    be    pictured. 


"  I    KXOAVED    YER    BY   THE    PKISOX    SMELL."  199 

Without  living  in  it,  it  is  more  unintelligible  than  the  bottom- 
less pit.  There  are  things  that  cannot  be  described.  This  is 
one  of  them.  It  never  will  be!  Never!  It  is  easier  to  picture 
a  stench  to  a  man  without  a  nose,  or  a  sound  to  a  man  without 
ears." 

"Oh!  oh!  and  this  you  have  lived  through,  and — and — 
dear  Hal  has  lived." 

"  Yes!  until  I  knew  that  I  would  be  carried  out  a  mass  of 
corruption  like  the  others.  Then  I  took  a  parole — for  my 
children." 

"How  I  do  pity  you." 
"  And  you  do  not  blame  me?" 

"No!  God  knows  I  do  not,  and  your  countrymen  will  not." 
"  It  does  me  good   to   hear  that.     And  it   has  given  me 
opportunity  to  save  many  of  the  boys." 
"  Save  them! " 

"  Thousands  have  perished  there  who  could  have  been 
saved  by  a  few  lemons,  or  by  potatoes  or  onions — by  any 
vegetables." 

"  I  have  seen  abundance  of  them  all  about." 
"Abundance!     I  have  heard  scores  of  rebels  say  this  part 
of  Georgia  never   raised  so   many  vegetables.     I    have  seen 
them  rotting  at  the  store  and  about  the  depot." 
"And  they  would  not  give  them  to  j^ou?" 
"  They  would  not  even  permit  those  who  had  money  to 
buy  them." 

"What  inexpressible  cruelty?" 

"  I  tell  3^ou  it  was  done  with  a  deliberate  purpose  to  kill 
us — that  we  should  perish  with  the  indescribable  tortures  of 
scurvy;  that  we  should  rot  to  death." 
"Can  men  be  so  wicked?" 

"Wicked!  The  embruting  of  slavery  and  the  madness  of 
rebellion  has  consumed  the  humanity  of  the  South." 
"  Oh,  not  all — I  saw  one  woman  to-day  " — 
"Yes,  I  know  who  you  mean.  She  is  a  good  woman. 
There  are  many  such,  and  many  tender-hearted  men  even 
among  our  guards  who  would  help  us  if  they  dare.  But  they 
are  pnly  chips  in  a  malignant,  overwhelming  torrent.     Even 


200  BRISTLING   WITH   THORNS. 

the  preachers.  There  is  one — he  was  on  the  cars  to-day — 
Sniggins" — 

"Yes!   I  saw  him!" 

"  He  comes  and  preaches  and  prays  " — 

"Is  not  that  good?"     ' 

"  His  real  purpose  is  to  persuade  the  foreigners  among  us 
to  desert  and  enlist  in  the  Confederate  army." 

"Oh,  shame!'' 

"  It  is  a  fact. 

"  In  view  of  these  things,  what  could  I  do?  I  knew  if  I 
had  a  parole  I  would  have  a  chance  of  saving  myself,  and  I 
could  occasionally  smuggle  in  vegetables  to  the  boys." 

"And  you  did?" 

"  Ask  Hal  when- you  see  him." 

"  Noble  friend!     What  is  your  name?" 

"John  Mason." 

"  John  Mason,  your  name  is  stamped  on  my  heart  for 
eternal  remembrance."     She  said  it  slowly  and  solemnly. 

"  Thank  you  !     Thank  you !  " 

"And  you  saw  Hal  to-day.     How  does  he 'look?" 

After  a  few  moments'  pause,  Mason  said:  "You  saw  that 
Sniggins  to-day?" 

"Yes,  and  I  hate  him." 

"  Well,  if  Hal's  hair  and  whiskers  were  trimmed  the 
same  way,  he  would  look  like  Sniggins."  » 

"Oh,"  no!" 

"  lie  would  indeed." 

"  How  changed  he  must  be." 

"  Hunger  thins.  Expo^sure  and  bad  food  sallows,  and  bad 
air  corrupts  the  blood.  Yes,  he  is  changed.  But  he  is  the 
same  old  Sarge  Hal." 

"Dear  Hal!     Dear  Hal!" 

"  Noble  old  Sarge.     That's  what  he  is." 

"I  have  come  to  get  him  out  if  possible." 

"  I  supposed  so." 

"If  he  only  had  his  mind — " 

"Mind!  Mind!  Oh,  yes!  There  was  something  the  mat- 
ter with  his  head." 


"  I    KNOWED    YER    BY   THE    PRISON    SMELL."  201 

In  the  darkness  Mason  could  feel  Kate's  clutch  on  his 
knees.  He  had  been  sitting  on  a  low  bench;  she  on  another 
little  bench  close  by  him.  He  could  hear  her  quick,  spasmodic 
breathing. 

"  But,"  continued  Mason,  "  he's  all  right  now." 

"Thank  God!  Thank  Heaven!"  It  was  an  anthem  of 
praise  that  burst  forth  from  her  overflowing  heart. 

Mason  rapidly  told  the  story: 

"  I  don't  know  how  he  got  to  Salisbury.  He  got  sepa- 
rated from  we  Chickamauga  boys.  But  a  few  days  after  we 
came  here  Sarge  Hal  came  in  a  crowd  from  Salisbury.  It 
■was  an  awful  night.  We  heard  the  whistle  on  the  road  and 
the  roll  of  the  cars  mingling  with  the  roar  of  the  tempest. 
We  knew  what  that  meant.  It  was  an  addition  to  our  suf- 
ferers. Brilliant  streams  of  electricity  flashed  across  the 
heavens.  The  clouds  burst  in  quick,  sharp  crashes.  The  gate 
of  the  stockade  opened.  There  were  pitch-pine  stumps  there 
then.  They  were  blazing  and  sending  up  volumes  of  smoke. 
Through  the  smoke,  through  the  chilling  rain  that  poured 
down  in  a  deluge,  we  saw  a  long  human  thread  pushed  in 
through  the  gate  over  on  to  the  west  hill-side.  They  were 
Union  soldiers.  Soon  they  gathered  about  the  lurid  light  of 
the  stumps.  They  sought  warmth.  They  were  frozen  to  the 
marrow.  But  it  was  a  vain  seeking.  The  storm  was  a  giant 
mocking  the  efforts  of  pigmy  fires.  As  the  lightning  illumi- 
nated the  pen  one  of  our  boys  noticed  a  man  sitting  alone, 
upon  the  hillside,  near  the  dead  line.  Jasper — he  was  a  ser- 
geant in  your  husband's  company — he  walked  up  the  hillside 
to  the  lone  man.  He  stood  beside  him.  We  could  hear  his 
voice  in  an  interval  of  the  storm.  '  My  God,  boys!  it's  Sarge 
Hal.'  We  left  him  at  Chickamauga.  We  thought  he  was 
dead.  That  night  he  was  resurrected  out  of  the  storm.  We 
saw  them  come  down  the  hillside.  We  drew  him  to  the  fire. 
We  saw  the  old  form,  the  old  face.  But  oh!  how  thin  and 
worn.  We  clasped  his  hands;  we  embraced  him;  we  danced 
about  him;  we  shouted;  we  laughed.  We  forgot  the  light- 
ning, and  the  pealing  thunder,  and  the  chilling  rain.  Joy  was 
a  giant  stronger  than  the  storm.  Then  we  listened.  We  heard 


202  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

his  voice:  'Kit!  Kit!  Kit!'  We  spoke  again.  He  looked 
upon  us;  a  vacant  smile  played  about  his  mouth.  He  mur- 
mured, 'Kit!  Kit!'  He  looked  into  the  face  of  the  glowing 
heavens,  lifted  up  his  arms  and  repeated,  'Kit!  Kit!  Kit!' 
Some  of  the  old  boys  sat  down  on  the* drenched  earth,  buried 
their  faces  between  their  knees  and  sobbed  like  children. 
The  storm  was  again  the  conqueror.  They  had  borne  up,  too 
brave,  too  strong,  too  passionate  to  weep.  But  Hal  was  good 
to  the  boys.  They  looked  on  him  as  a  father,  and  they  loved 
him.  This  sight  broke  their  hearts.  The  boys  drew  Hal  to 
the  earth,  as  near  to  the  burning  stump  as  possible — and 
during  the  live-long  night  he  sat  looking  at  the  flame,  repeat- 
ing, 'Kit!  Kit!  Kit' — in  the  driving  rain  murmuring,  'Kit! 
Kit!  Kit!'  Oh!  it  was  a  mournful  plaint,  'Kit!  Kit!  Kit!' 
The  Salisbury  boys  said  it  had  been  going  on  for  weeks. 
They  didn't  know  his  name.  They  called  him  '  Puss  Cat,' 
and  by  that  name  we  afterward  learned  he  was  enrolled  on 
the  prison  register  of  this  place." 

Mason's  head  was  bent  low  over  Kate,  his  voice  not 
audible  beyond  the  door.  He  could  feel  her  quivering  under 
his  word  lances;  could  hear  low  moans  and  sobs,  and  he 
finished  his  story. 

"I  think,  though,  that  it  saved  him.  Yes,  I  think  the  im- 
pairment of  his  mind  saved  him.  He  couldn't  see,  couldn't 
know  the  horrors  that  surrounded  him.  It  is  the  seeing  and 
knowing — the  pliantom  of  the  inexorable — it  is  despair  that 
kills." 

"Poor!   poor,  hopeless  sufferers!" 

"He  didn't  know.  Despair  wasn't  grinding  the  soul  out 
of  him.  And  the  boys,  why,  we  all  took  care  of  Hal.  Yes, 
all  the  old  boys — all  took  care  of  Sarge  Hal." 

"Dear,  noble  self-sacrificing  sufferers.  God  will  reward — " 

"God  only  can  reward  many  of  them  now,"  answered  .Jolin 
Mason,  solemnly;  then  he  added:  "Two  weeks  ago  Hal  had 
a  severe  fall." 

"A  fall!     Oh!" 

"It  was  a  lucky  fall." 

"Lucky!" 


"  I    KNOWED    YER    BY    THE    PRISON  SMELL."  203 

"Wait!  There  was  a  rush  from  the  dead  line.  Hal  was 
in  the  way  of  it.  He  was  overthrown.  He  fell  with  great 
violence,  striking  the  side  of  his  head.  Some  of  the  boys 
ran  to  pick  him  up.  They  thought  he  was  dead.  I  happened 
to  be  in  the  stockade  at  the  moment,  and  near  him.  They 
lifted  him  up.  I  was  standing  in  front  of  him.  He  opened 
his  eyes.  'Why,  Jack,  old  boy.'  Those  were  his  first  words. 
'  Why,  Jack,  old  boy.'  Remember,  ma'am,  he  spoke  to  me 
first — me  first — 'Why,  Jack,  old  boy.'  You  see,  he  saw  me 
first.  That  was  it — '  W^hy,  Jack,  old  boy.'  Maybe  I  didn't 
holler.     Lord!  Lord!  wasn't  I  happy.     'Jack,  o\d  boy.'" 

"Jack,  old  boy,  dear  friend,  I  shall  love  you.  Oh,  how  I 
shall  love  you,  forever  and  ever.  Jack,  old  boy.  And  it  was 
you  first,  dear  Jack,  old  boy." 

"  Thank  you!     Thank  you!     Say  it  again,  please." 

"  Dear,  dear  Jack,  old  boy." 

"Oh,  that  pays,  even  if  I  am  a  parole." 

"Don't!  don't  Jack,  old  boy.  Remember  the  dear  chil- 
dren." 

"I  do  remember,  and  have  remembered,  aiid  that  sustains 
me.  Well,  Hal  has  been  ail  right  ever  since.  Whatever  was 
crooked  in  his  head  was  straightened  by  that  shock." 

"  Wonderful  are  thy  ways,  O  Lord! " 

"Wonderful!  But  he  has  gone  down  faster  bodily  in  the 
last  two  weeks  than  he  did  in  all  the  time  of  his  imprison- 
ment." 

"Poor  Hal!     Poor  Hal!" 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Huntley,  let  us  talk  of  ways." 

"Dear  Jack,  old  boy,  you  are  familiar  with  the  ways  of  the 
prison.     What  do  you  suggest?" 

Kate  then  told  how  she  came,  who  was  with  her,  and  about 
the  house  in  Macon.  And  Mason  gave  a  brief  description  of 
the  ways  of  the  prison.  They  talked  nearly  two  hours.  Many 
plans  were  suggested,  discussed  and  rejected.  Finally  a  plan 
was  agreed  upon,  a  day  fixed,  and  John  Mason,  with  a  kiss  on 
his  cheek,  $200  in  greenbacks,  and  ^2,000  in  Confederate 
money  in  his  pocket,  and  a  "God  bless  you,  dear  Jack,  old 
boy,"  stole  out  into  the  darkness. 


204  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

The  first  morning  train  conveyed  Kate  to  Macon. 

Jupiter  rejoiced  when  he  saw  her. 

When  he  heard  of  Mansa  he  was  overwhelmed  with  de- 
light. He  was  a  willing  servant  before.  He  was  a  devoted 
friend  now.  They  put  their  heads  together.  Kate  unfolded 
the  plan.  Some  things  were  needed.  A  horse  and  wagon 
v/ere  indispensable.  Jupiter  suggested  counsel  with  the  col- 
ored woman.     Kate  was  alarmed. 

"  I  tells  yer,  honey,  dese  yer  culled  uns,  dey  knows.  Dey 
igno'ance  am  on'v  puttend.  Dey'spossuming.  Dey  is  !  dey's 
fo'  de  Nawf,  and  de  Yonkees,  an'  yo  kin  truss  'um  to  de  deff  ! 
to  de  deif  !  " 

Kate  was  persuaded.  The  old  lady  was  taken  into  coun- 
sel. She  listened  in  silent  wonder,  expressing  her  amazement 
with  her  hands  and  her  eyes,  and  the  lights  and  shadows  that 
flitted  over  her  wrinkled  face. 

.*'  Now,  auntie,  will  you  help  ?  " 

"  Mistus,  I'ze  bin  prayin'  fo'  freedom  dis  fifty  long  yeah 
gone  ;  fifty  long  yeah.  An'  sometimes  I'ze  fear  it  nebbah 
come.  It  so  long,  honey,  so  long.  Now  um  moas  at  de  doah. 
I  knows  dat.  Moas  done  come.  I  see  de  glory  in  de  hebbins. 
I  see  it,  moas,  oi)enin'.  May  be  I'll  go  fo'  it  comes.  But  de 
chillun,  dey's  gwine  ter  be  free.  Bless  de  Lawd.  I  knows 
dat,  de  po'  chillun  !  An'  ef  de  Lawd  hab  suthin  fo'  po' ole 
mammy  ter  do  in  de  wuck,  I'ze  gwine  ter  do  it,  sho  !  Sho  ! 
Honey  !     Sho  !     I'ze  gwine  ter  help  the  Lawd  whah  I  kin." 

Then  Kate  narrated  the  proposed  plan  of  escape  and  the 
necessit\^  of  buying  a  horse  and  wagon. 

When  Kate  concluded  there  was  a  silence  of  several  min- 
utes. 

Tiie  old  woman's  brain  was  busy. 

She  was  thinking. 

It  resulted  in  this:  Slie  knew  a  free  colored  man.  He 
owned  a  good  horse  and  a  suitable  wagon.  She  could  procure 
that. 

She  went  away,  and  soon  returned  with  assurance  that  the 
horse  and  wagon  was  procured.  Auntie  then  suggested  that 
she  had  a  son.     A  slave.     He  hired   his   time,  and    worked  a 


"I    KNOWED    YER    BY   THE    PRISON    SMELL."  205 

little  farm  midway  between  Fraiicesville  and  Parchelaga  ; 
and  to  the  best  of  her  belief  that  was  about  half  way  to  An- 
dersonville.  It  might  be  be.-t  to  use  the  Macon  horse  to  her 
son's,  and  her  son's  horse  the  other  part  of  the  journey. 

This  was  a  sensible  suggestion,  and  was  immediately 
adopted.  Other  arrangements  were  speedily  made.  On  the 
night  of  Tuesday,  June  21,  1864,  Kate  started,  Jupiter  driv- 
ino*.  The  old  auntie  insisted  on  goino-  with  them  to  her  son's 
and  guiding  them  on  the  road.  Westward  they  journeyed, 
through  Warrior,  Echaconnee  and  Knoxville.  On,  still,  five 
miles  farther  ;  then  south  through  Francesville  to  the  cabin  of 
the  son.  The  cabin  was  reached  long  before  daylight.  The 
son  cheerfully  loaned  his  horse  to  continue  the  journey  The 
old  lady  immediately  turned  about  and  walked  home  to  Ma- 
con. Kate  and  Jupiter  rested  during  the  day.  After  dark 
they  set  out  again  with  the  new  horse,  and  before  morning 
Mansa  was  in  Jupiter's  arms.  The  horse  and  wagon  were 
taken  to  a  barn  in  the  skirt  of  the  woods,  where  Mansa  assured 
them  no  one  ever  entered,  and  Kate  lay  down  to  rest.  Sleep 
she  could  not.  A  few  hours  would  land  her  in  Heaven  or 
plunge  her  in  a  gulf  of  eternal  despair. 

At  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Thursday,  June  23,  a 
gray-headed,  humpbacked  negro  crossed  the  track  in  front  of 
the  Andersonville  depot,  and  shuffled  slowly  along  to  the  end 
of  the  warehouse.  A  white  string  hung  over  his  lower  jaw, 
he  was  apparently  chewing  one  end  of  it.  A  very  close  ob- 
server might  have  seen  a  slight  protuberance  on  his  breast. 

At  the  end  of  the  shed  he  paused,  and  leaned  idly  against  it. 

A  half  hour  later  a  team  drove  up  from  the  stockade. 

The  driver  dismounted. 

It  was  a  morning  of  strings. 

This  one  had  a  string  tied  about  his  right  ear. 

Humpback  shuffled  toward  the  man  with  the  stringed  ear, 
brushed  against  him,  passed  him,  crossed  the  track  and  disap- 
peared. 

The  protuberance  on  humpback's  breast  was  contagious. 
In  passing,  it  left  the  stringed  mouth,  and  infected  the  stringed 
ear. 


206  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

The  protuberance  contained  a  pair  of  shoes  with  the  coun- 
ters cut  out  to  press  them  in  a  smaller  com})ass.  There  was 
also  a  scissors,  a  comb,  a  small  piece  of  soap,  a  towel  and  a 
pair  of  spectacles. 

Four  hours  later  the  train  came  in  from  the  North. 

As  the  train  whistled  a  mulatto  woman,  barefooted,  wear- 
ing a  coarse,  soiled  plantation  dress  and  calico  hood,  crossed 
the  track  from  the  west. 

She  stood  at  the  end  of  the  platform  when  the  passengers 
alighted,  and  followed  them  down  along  the  road  to  the  com- 
mandant's office. 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  be  riveted  on  but  one  of  the  group. 
That  one  was  a  man.  Not  the  first  man  followed  by  a 
woman's  eyes. 

When  the  man  entered  the  door  of  the  commandant's 
office,  the  woman  stood  by  the  window,  looking  in. 

When  the  man  came  out  the  mulatto  girl  stepped  up  to 
him. 

"  Mawstah,  mistus  done  say,  please  yo'  come  permegiate." 

"Who  is  your  mistress?" 

"Mistus  Titefiss.     She  'um  berry  sick." 

"Can't  she  wait  till  I  come  out  of  the  prison?" 

"  No,  mawstah,  she  'um  berry  baad — she  say  please  come. 
It  pow'ful  pawtent.  Yes,  sah,  pow'ful  pawtent.  She  say  she 
know  de  good  bruur  come." 

"  Has  Brother  Titefist  left  his  brandy  unlocked?" 

"  Yaas,  mawstah,  an'  it's  pow'ful  savin'  dat  brandy  am,  fo' 
vo'  0:0  in  dah! " 

"  Very  well,  I'll  go  with  you."  x\nd  he  turned  about  and 
followed  her  up  to  the  depot  and  along  the  road. 

Before  reaching  the  house,  the  girl  turned  into  a  path 
leading  past  the  cabins. 

"  Diss  de  bess  way,  mawstah."  The  man  followed  her. 
Reaching  the  third  cabin,  the  girl  paused  and  pointed  to  the 
cabin  door. 

"  In  dah,  mawstah." 

"  But  sister  Titefist  is  not  in  there!  " 

"  Dat  de  place.     Go  in  dah,  mawstah." 


"  I    KNOWED    YER    BY    THE    PRISOX    SMELL."  207 

The  man  hesitated.  He  was  about  to  speak.  Then  a  broad 
hand  passed  from  behind  his  head  and  closed  over  his  mouth. 

A  strong  arm  from  behind  clutched  his  body  and  bore  him 
rapidly  into  the  cabin.  The  mulatto  woman  followed  instantly 
and  closed  the  door. 

The  broad  hand  and  strong  arm  belonged  to  the  hunchback 
neo^ro  of  the  strino;. 

To  gag  and  bind  the  captive  was  the  work  of  an  instant. 

Then  the  woman  stepped  into  a  closet  and  the  humpback 
stripped  the  prisoner  of  his  clothing,  even  to  his  shirt,  substi- 
tutino;  coarse  neg-ro  o-arments  in  their  stead. 

After  the  stripping,  and  the  prisoner  was  firmly  rebound, 
the  woman  came  from  the  closet  and  searched  his  pockets. 
Then  the  garments,  including  the  slouch  hat  and  shirt,  were 
pressed  into  the  smallest  possible  compass,  placed  in  the 
humpback's  bosom,  and  he  went  out. 

The  woman  bolted  the  door  and  stood  guard  over  the 
bound  and  gagged  prisoner. 

A  half-hour  later  Humpback  again  stood  at  the  depot;  he 
passed  by  the  wagon  driven  by  the  stringed  ear;  as  he  did  so 
the  contents  of  his  bosom  were  vomited  into  the  tail  end  of 
the  wagon,  and  Humpback  crossed  the  track  westward,  never 
again  to  recross  it.  He  was  seen  about  Andersonville  no 
more. 

The  sun  crept  slowly  toward  the  horizon. 

Anxiety  is  a  fearful  protractor  of  time. 

It  was  the  longest  afternoon  the  mulatto  or  the  hunchback 
ever  saw. 

A  few  minutes  before  sunset  a  man  stood  on  the  inside  of 
the  inner  palisade  gate.  He  felt  in  his  right  vest  pocket, 
''Hum!"  then  in  his  left  vest  pocket,  "Hum!"  Then  he 
thrust  his  right  hand  into  an  inner  pocket  in  the  left  side  of 
his  coat  and  drew  out  a  small  book.  The  book  was  a  New 
Testament.  He  opened  the  book.  There  between  the  lid  and 
first  leaf  lay  a  little  slip  of  paper.     *'  Haw!  " 

Without  looking  at  it,  the  sentry  said,  "All  right,  sah,'  and 
the  man  with  the  book  and  the  ticket,  and  the  "Hum!  Hum! 
Haw!"  passed  out. 


308  BRISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

"Havv!"cried  the  sentry  to  his  mate,  "I  reckon  ef  ole  Snig 
wur  to  cum  hier  ten  yeah  he'd  go  through  the  same  motions." 

The  man  who  liad  thus  passed  the  inner  gate  walked 
slowly  on,  with  head  bowed  down,  to  the  outer  gates.  Then 
he  delivered  up  the  ticket  to  the  guard  and  passed  on.  The 
ticket  read: 

Headquarters  Confederate  States  Military  Prison, 
CAMP   SUMTER,  Georgia,  June  23,  1864. 

GUARDS  PASS  Bev.  Jirohath  Sniggins. 

H.   WIRZ, 
Captain  Commanding  Prison. 

GOOD  FOR  THIS  DAY. 

Slowly  the  man  walked  up  the  Toad  to  the  depot  and 
across  the  track. 

Then  the  sun  had  disappeared. 

Slowly  he  moved  on  down  the  path  to  the  Sweetwater,  on 
and  on  to  the  great  road. 

How  sweet  was  the  breath  of  the  pines  ! 

He  drank  it  down  in  immense  draughts. 

He  was  in  the  great  road. 

He  saw  the  cabins.     He  was  among  the  cabins. 

He  passed  the  first,  the  second,  the  third. 

He  stood  before  the  fourth. 

He  pushed  open  the  door. 

He  entered. 

He  cried  out  from  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  "Thank  God  ! 
Thank  God  !  free  at  last  !  " 

At  that  instant  a  gray  arm  was  thrust  through  the  door. 

The  arm  clutched  a  pistol. 

By  the  feeble  light  of  the  burning  pine  splint  the  man  of 
the  "  Hum  !  Hum  !  Haw  !  '*  saw  the  arm  and  saw  the  pistol. 
And  then  he  heard  a  voice  from  the  owner  of  the  arm  and 
pistol — a  voice  that  froze  his  heart  within  him. 

"Free  be  ye  !  Throw  up  yer  hans  !  Dawg  ye  !  I  knowd 
yer  by  the  prison  smell  !  " 


"uncle  billy  done  come  wid  de  union."  'ZOd 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


When  the  man  of  the  gray  arm  and  the  pistol  spoke,  Ser- 
geant Huntley — it  was  he  at  whom  the  pistol  was  pointed — 
threw  up  his  hands  and '  dropped  on  a  bench  as  if  he  was 
shot. 

"  Gawl,"  snorted  the  man  with  the  gray  arm,  "  when  I 
passed  yer  in  the  road  I  thought  it  was  Sniggins,  sho'  !  Sho'! 
Dawgd  if  yer  ain't  well  got  up  !  But  yer  couldn't  fool  Sim 
Byle's  nose;  not  much!  I'd. know  that  prisin  smell  any- 
wher  !  anywher  !  Thort  to  play  ole  Snig,  did  yer,  an'  with 
that  smell  on  yer  I  Youse  a  cute  un  !  Dad  rat  if  .yer  haint  ! 
But  that  smell  ;  gawl,  how't  sticks."  While  he  was  speaking 
he  was  covering  Sergeant  Huntley  with  his  pistol,  and  the 
fugitive,  standing  on  the  brink  of  escape,  was  plunged  into 
the  depths  of  night. 

The  scheme  of  rescue  had  been  simple  and  perfect.  Hal 
Huntley  resembled  Parson  Jirobath  Sniggins.  On  Thurs- 
day he  was  captured  and  his  clothing  and  his  pass  secured. 

John  Mason  was  master  of  instruction  of  the  parson's 
manner  and  habits,  and  Hal  had  learned  his  lesson  perfectly. 

Through  the  gates  of  perdition,  through  the  people  that 
lined  the  road  to  the  depot  he  had  passed  in  safety.  Not  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  cabins  he  passed  the  Confederate  Ser- 
geant Sim  Byles,  better  known  as  "Crookneck,"  in  the  road. 
"  Crookneck  "  touched  his  hat  and  went  on,  and  Hal  congrat- 
ulated himself  that  the  last  breaker  was  passed.  Then  came 
the  gray  arm  and  the  pistol. 

Before  a  dozen  yards  separated  Huntley  from  the  Confed- 
erate guard  "  old  Crookneck  "  paused  ;  began  to  rub  his  long 
nose  ;  turned  his   head  ;  looked  after  the   retreating   figure  j 


210  BKlSTLIXa    WITH    THORNS. 

rubbed  his  nose  again  ;  then  sprang  into  the  timber  skirting 
the  road  and  faced  backward. 

From  tree  to  tree  he  dogged  Hal's  footsteps. 

"  Crookneck,"  however,  failed  to  observe  that  when  he 
paused,  a  figure  further  in  the  timber  also  paused,  and  as  lie 
moved  on,  the  figure  moved  on,  when  he  stood  before  the 
cabin  door  with  his  pistol  covering  Hal  Huntley  and  boasted 
of  his  smell,  the  figure  of  the  deeper  forest  shambled  round 
the  corner  of  the  cabin.  It  was  the  Hunchback.  Then  from 
the  other  side  of  the  cabin  came  the  mulatto  woman.  She, 
too,  had  been  watching  in  the  road. 

When  "  Crookneck  "  saw  the  colored  man  he  called  to 
him. 

"Heiah  boy!  git  me  some  lashin'  to  tie  this  year  drat 
Yank." 

"  Yis,  mawstah  !  in  dah  some  ! "  pointing  inside  the  cabin. 

"  Crookneck  "  entered. 

The  Hunchback  and  the  mulatto  instantly  followed  him, 
and  the  mulatto  closed  the  door. 

Hunchback  shuffled  past  "  Crookneck's  "  pistol  hand  ;  as 
he  did,  with  one  hand  he  seized  the  pistol,  his  forefinger  thrust 
under  the  hammer  ;  with  the  other  hand  he  struck  "  Crook- 
neck  "  square  between  the  eyes. 

It  was  a  blow  from  a  pile  driver.  It  drove  "  Crookneck  " 
to  the  floor  stunned.  Instantly  Hunchback  and  the  mulatto 
were  upon  him  and  he  was  bound  hand  and  foot  and  gagged. 
It  was  a  quick  victory.  When  it  was  over  Mulatto  extin- 
guished the  light  and  passed  out  of  the  door  ;  without  there 
was  quiet  and  darkness.  Being  satisfied  she  returned  and  re- 
ported and  the  Hunchback  lifted  the  bound  man  and  b(^re  him 
away  to  the  third  cabin,  leaving  Hal  and  thii  mulatto  to  them- 
selves. 

When  Hunchback  returned  he  called  the  mulatto  out. 
They  walked  together  to  the  end  of  tlie  third  cabin  in  which 
the  jmrson  and  Confederate  sergeant  lay  bound  and  gagged. 
Then  this  conversation  took  })lace  : 

"  How  soon  we  gwine  to  stawt  ?  " 

"  Bout  half  houah." 


211 

"When  de  man  gwine  ter  meet  we  at  Flint  Ribbali  ?" 

"  Hush,  don't  yer  tawk  bout  de  ribbah." 

"  Dey  cawn't  heah  we." 

The  words  were  very  low. 

"  Doan  know  what  heahs." 

"  D'ain't  no  winnow  dis  yeali  side  de  cabin." 

"  Doan  yer  whispah  whah  we's  gwine." 

"  When  mus  we  git  dah  ?  " 

"  He  say  mus  be  at  de  Coe  place  fo'  daylight." 

When  this  was  said  they  paused  and  shuffled  away. 

There  were  no  windows  at  the  side  of  the  cabin,  but  there 
was  a  small  opening  between  the  logs.  A  close  observer 
might  have  seen  that  it  was  freshly  made,  and  if  the  parson 
and  sergeant,  who  heard  every  word  of  it,  could  have  been 
outside,  they  would  have  noticed  that  the  mouths  of  each  of 
the  speakers  was  close  up  against  the  opening. 

Acting  ? 

Yes,  every  day,  every  hour,  there  is  acting  away  from  the 
footlights,  to  which  even  Sellers  and  Dundreary  are  but  poor 
pinchbeck. 

From  the  little  speaking  tube  the  mulatto  and  Hunchback 
hurried  back  to  the  fourth  cabin.  There  was  a  light  in  it,  and 
Huntley  was  drinking  a  cup  of  strong  tea,  the  first  for  many 
months.  Once  in  the  cabin  the  mulatto  began  to  i^eel  like  an 
onion  under  a  knife.     First  the  plantation  dress. 

Before  a  negro  man  !  oh  ! 

Certainly  ;  why  not  ? 
Women  will  cut  their  dresses  off  in  the  middle  of  their 
backs,  expose  their  shoulders  and  arms  and — under  their  arms 
— durino-lono-  hours  of  ball-room  huo;  and  whirl  ;  and  after- 
wards,  if  seen  by  one  of  those  same  buggers  of  the  ball-room, 
in  a  night-dress  or  under  garments,  not  half  so  much  exposed, 
they  will  throw  up  their  hands,  cry  oh  !  my  !  and  run  and 
squat  like  pretty  pink  and  white  toads.  But  this  mulatto  had 
no  mock  modesty  to  make  a  fool  of  her.  She  exposed  her 
arms  and  shoulders,  and  Mansa  assailed  them  with  soft  soap 
and  hot  water.  First  came  a  little  white  spot,  then  more,  then 
all  white. 


212  BRISTLING    WITH    TUOKNS. 

Kate  Huntley  was  resurrected  out  of  the  suds.  There  was 
embracing,  a  whispered  "  Hal,"  "  Kate,"  a  kiss,  a  dozen  kisses. 
Then  Kate  dropped  her  feet  into  another  pan  of  water  and 
began  scouring  her  legs. 

Words  and  explanations  were  interdicted  :  there  was  no 
tim6,  and  fright  and  peril  coin  ears  out  of  forest  trees.  Hunch- 
back stood  in  a  corner  and  removed  his  shirt.  Kate  Huntley 
was  a  modest  woman.  But  she  was  not  shocked.  Why  should 
she  be  ?  In  a  crisis  of  life  and  death  it  is  only  your  prurient 
prudes  who  know  whether  a  man  wears  a  shirt  or  not. 

The  hunchback's  shirt  was  off  and  Mansa  stood  beside  him 
a  scissors  in  her  hand.  Snip,  snip,  snip.  The  hump  fell  to 
the  ground.  It  was  quick  and  painless  surgery.  A  gray  wig 
followed  the  hump — and  Jupiter  stood  chuckling  and  restoring 
his  shirt.  Jupiter  tore  open  the  hump,  drew  the  cotton  from 
it  and  threw  it  in  the  loft  ;  then  tore  the  covering  to  tatters. 
While  he  was  at  this  Mansa  was  scouring  Kate  from  her  toes 
to  her  knees  with  soft  soap  and  sand.  The  color  from  neck, 
face  and  arms  had  been  easily  removed.  A  more  permanent 
dye  was  placed  on  her  feet  and  ankles,  lest  it  should  scour  off 
in  the  sand. 

When  the  scouring  was  done  the  party  hurried  to  the  barn. 
Mansa  hitched  the  horse  to  the  wagon.  A  huge  bag  of  cotton 
lay  in  the  wagon.  Snip-snip  again.  The  end  of  the  bag 
dropped  down  on  a  hinge  of  thread.  It  was  a  sham  bag  after 
all.  Inside  was  a  box,  padded  heavily  on  the  outside  with  cot- 
ton, and  balinor  drawn  round  it  to  resemble  a  bag.  On  the 
bottom  of  the  box,  inside,  were  bed  springs.  On  these  were 
boards.  On  the  boards  two  heavy  quilts.  The  bottom  boards 
were  removed  from  the  middle  of  the  wagon  and  over  the 
opening  the  box  was  perforated  with  holes  and  the  cotton 
pushed  away  toward  either  end  of  the  bag.  This  was  to  se- 
cure air  to  the  inside  of  the  box.  Sergeant  Huntley  crawled 
into  the  box  and  lay  on  the  quilts.  Jupiter,  with  a  huge 
needle,  sewed  a  cotton  padded  end  into  the  bag.  Kate  first, 
then  Jupiter,  embraced  Mansa.  Jupiter  would  not  take  her 
along.  It  would  increase  the  load  and  add  to  the  perils. 
Mansa  sorrowfully  acquiesced.     Her  mistress  was  very  old  and 


213 

very  ill  and  her  master  absent.  She  thought  it  would  not  be 
right  to  abandon  her  mistress  to  two  old  and  helpless  field 
hands.  She  would  stay.  She  knew  the  war  was  "  Gwine  to 
buss  foah  lang."  She  had  heard  her  master  say  it.  And  this 
prudent  master  had  taken  all  his  slaves  except  Mansa,  the 
nurse,  and  the  two  old  worthless  negroes  away  to  Savannah 
and  sold  them.  Mansa  did  wish  to  go  ;  and  Jupiter  ;  he  had 
come  all  this  way  ;  he  had  wagered  his  liberty  and  his  life  on 
the  chance  of  rescue  ;  yet  unselfishly  both  buried  their  hopes 
and  desires  under  their  duty  and  sorrow. 

Out  of  the  barn  ;  through  the  woods  ;  slowly  at  first  over 
the  pine  cones  and  long  brown  needles,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  great  trees,  until  they  struck  the  Hamburg  road.  A  looker 
on  might  have  seen  a  bale  of  cotton,  a  white  woman  and  a  ne- 
gro ;  that  was  all. 

The  road  struck,  the  negro  chirped  to  the  horse,  "  Git." 
The  horse  struck  a  long,  sweeping  trot.  On  and  on  they  went 
throusfh  the  nio^ht. 

While  the  horse  was  creeping  through  the  forest,  Mansa 
was  busy.  The  wig  and  shreds  of  the  hump  were  buried  deep 
in  the  sand  of  the  stable.  Then  the  traces  left  by  the  horse 
were  buried  and  the  tracks  raked  over.  From  the  stable 
Mansa  went  to  the  spring,  a  bucket  in  her  hand.  She  filled  it, 
walked  to  the  cabin  door,  began  there  and  poured  water  all 
over  the  path  to  the  barn,  in  the  barn,  and  about  the  barn. 
Wherever  Kate,  Hal,  or  Jupiter  had  stood  she  deluged  with 
the  spring.     All  the  time  she  was  whispering. 

"  Hi  !  dis  yeah  nio-o-ah  too  smaat  fo'  houns," 

Then  she  went  to  the  great  house  and  sat  on  the  doorstep 
listening  to  the  deep  breathing  of  her  sleeping  mistress  and 
looking  out  into  the  night.  Heavy  clouds  swept  up  from  the 
south,  a  faint  glow  sufi^used  the  sky  and  died  away.  Then 
again  the  blush  swept  across  the  gloom.  A  deep,  rumbling 
murmur  rose  above  the  creaking  of  the  pines  ;  a  little  drop  of 
water  fell  down  on  Mansa's  head,  then  a  quick,  bright  light,  a 
crash — and  the  rain  fell  down  in  a  driving  storm. 

The  tempest  beat  upon  the  wagon  on  the  road.  Above, 
the  lightning  flashed  ;  the  thunders  roared  ;  the  winds  moaned 


214  BRISTLING   WITH   THORNS. 

through  the  forest ;  the  heavy  limbs  gTated  and  crashed  against 
each  other ;  and  the  rain  pelted  down  in  a  deluging  torrent. 
Kate  and  Jupiter  bowed  their  heads  to  the  storm,  and  chirped 
to  the  horse.  In  three  hours  the  first  stage  of  the  journey  was 
passed.  The  fresh  horse  was  awaiting  them.  On  again,  in 
tlie  storm.  Before  daylight  they  reached  Macon  ;  drove 
slowly  through  the  streets  to  the  barn  in  the  rear  of  Kate's 
cottage,  and  entered.  The  door  was  closed.  Kate  was  pene- 
trated with  chill.  In  her  anxiety  she  forgot  it.  How  was 
rial  ?  How  had  he  endured  the  night  and  the  ride  ?  A  little 
string  had  been  passed  through  the  front  end  of  the  bale. 
Tlie  man  within  had  one  end  about  his  wrist.  Kate  without 
held  the  other  end.  She  pulled  one-tv»^o,  "  How  are  you  ?  " 
Answer  one-two,  "All  right."  It  was  a  string  telegraph. 
Once  in  the  night  there  was  no  answer.  Kate  was  fearfully 
alarmed.     Wanted  to  cut  open  the  bag. 

"  Sleep,  reckon,"  suggested  Jupiter. 

One,  two — vigorously. 

One  twitch,  two  twitches,  on  Kate's  finger.  "  All  right." 
Now  she  wanted  to  see.  Jupiter  watched  the  door.  Kate 
drew  a  scissors  from  her  pocket,  snip,  snip,  snip.  The  end  of 
the  bag  loosened,  fell  down  ;  a  pair  of  feet  appeared,  a  pair  of 
legs,  a  body,  a  head,  and  — Kate  and  Hal  were  devouring  each 
other  with  kisses. 

Ju])iter  drew  out  a  knife  and  j^egan  at  the  bag.  He  ripped 
it  to  pieces.  He  drew  out  the  box,  pulled  it  apart.  He  stored 
the  boards  in  different  parts  of  the  barn.  Then  he  pushed  the 
cotton  in  a  corner.  While  he  was  at  that,  Kate  and  her  hus- 
])and  were  engaged  in  some  mysterious  operation  behind  the 
wagon.  Soon  Kate  walked  out,  up  the  path  to  the  house.  A 
few  minutes  later  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg  hobbled  up  the 
same  path;  and  a  little  later,  Jupiter.  When  they  were  all  in 
the  house  they  found  breakfast  ready,  meat  and  vegetables 
and  steaming  hot  coffee.  The  man  of  the  wooden  leg  smacked 
his  lips  and  rubbed  his  chest  and  stomach. 

"Oh,  how  good  it  is." 

The  eyes  of  the  others  were  briglit  with  joy  and  dimmed 
with  tears. 


"  UNCLE    BILLY    DONE    COME    WID    DE    UNION."  215 

"  To  think  that  a  man  should  be  brought  to  this." 

The  others  could  hardly  sit  at  the  table.  They  danced 
about  him  and  waited  on  him,  and  Kate  kissed  him  and  put 
little  bites  in  his  mouth,  as  if  he  was  unable  to  feed  himself. 
They  made  a  baby  and  a  pet  of  him.  One  hour  after  break- 
fast a  carriage  stood  before  the  door.  Within  there  were 
many  embracings.  Auntie  was  nearly  hugged  and  kissed  to 
death.  Then  Kate  and  the  wooden-legged  man  entered  the 
carriage.  Jupiter  mounted  with  the  driver.  They  drove 
along  the  street,  across  the  bridge  looking  down  on  the  Ock- 
miilgee  like  a  broad  band  of  silver  winding  through  the  deep 
gorge,  and  up  to  the  Savannah  depot.  Then  the  carriage 
halted  and  spilled  out  its  contents.  Kate  bought  tickets.  The 
wooden  leg  went  thump,  thump,  thump,  across  the  platform. 

A  bell  rang. 

"All  aboard!" 

Jerk,  jerk, jerk. 

Puff,  puff,  puff. 

The  train  rolled  out  from  the  town. 

At  night  they  were  in  Savannah. 

This  was  Friday,  and  Kate's  second  visit  to  the  cit^^ 

On  the  previous  Monday  she  came  first.  She  visited  drug 
stores.  That  was  for  dye  stuffs.  Then  she  visited  the  sub- 
urbs. That  was  for  a  house.  On  this  Friday  night  the  party 
drove  straight  from  the  depot  to  the  house  that  Kate  had 
hired  on  Monday.  No  one  gave  them  a  thought.  They  were 
just  like  so  many  others,  women,  wooden  legs,  and  negroes, 
who  passed  out  of  Macon  and  into  Savannah  every  day.  Why 
should  anyone  think  of  them?  They  realized  that  -'a  crowd 
is  a  desert." 

It  was  a  pretty  little  home  that  they  entered,  with  broad, 
spreading  magnolias  behind,  and  a  high  fence  and  dense 
growth  of  shrubbery  all  about  the  rear  of  the  lot.  As  soon  as 
they  entered  the  house  the  wooden  leg  came  off  in  a  hurry. 
Then  followed  a  strap  that  bound  an  ankle  to  a  thigh,  and  a 
foot  fell  down  to  the  floor.  "Tell  you,. it's  just  awful,"  said 
Hal,  trying  to  rest  his  weight  on  the  numb  foot. 

Kate  rubbed  the  thin  foot  and  kissed  it. 


21G  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIORXS. 

"Don't  l)elieve  1  could  have  stood  it  anotber  hour  to  save 
my  life."     Then  he  ])egan  to  whistle  "  Yankee  Doodle." 

"Oh,  for  goodness  sake,"  cried  Kate,  and  the  whistle  was 
cut  olf  short. 

•  That  night  they  all  slept  on  the  floor.  The  next  day  they 
had  beds.  In  a  week  they  were  comfortable.  Jupiter  and 
Hal  remained  within  during  the  day,  and  walked  the  grounds 
in  the  rear  at  night.  Hal  grew  fat,  and  all  would  have  been 
happy,  but  for  Mansa.  How  often  they  all  talked  of  her  and  her 
noble  self-sacrifice.  On  the  second  Sunday  night  Kate  said; 
"  Now,  boys,  I  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

"Well,  Captain  Kitty,  what  is  it?" 

"Kitty,  indeed;  as  if  I  was  a  little  kitten." 

"  And  if  it  hadn't  been  Kitty—" 

"  Ah,  dear  boy!     Poor  Puss  Cat!  " 

"Dear  Kitty!" 

"  Pin  going  for  Mansa." 

"Oh!" 

"  Lawsee,  Miss  Kate." 

"I  am.  If  I'm  captain,  you  high-privates  must  obey 
orders  without  protest." 

"Mighty  danjahsome,  mistus!   mighty  danjahsome." 

"You  took  greater  risks  for  us,  Jupiter,  and  I  will  not  see 
you  pining  without  one  effort." 

"Me  pinin,  honey!" 

"Me  pinin',  honey!  Just  hear  him.  Do  you  think  I'm  a 
goose.  I  know  the  signs.  Why,  sir.  I  can  read  it  in  your 
eyes  every  day." 

"Clah  ter  goodness,  Miss  Kate." 

"You  needn't  'clah  to  goodness,'  nor  'clah'  badness.  I'm 
not  to  be  deceived." 

uBut— " 

"And  you  needn't  'but'  either.  Pm  captain  of  this — this 
squad.     Isn't  that  high  military?" 

"  Oh,  yes!     Squad's  good." 

"Very  well,  tlien!  Now,  squad,  'tention!  1  am  going; 
sure.  '  But '  or  no  '  but; '  '  clah  '  or  no  '  clah ; '  I  told  Mansa  1 
would   come   if   I    could.      What   is    there    to    prevent    it? 


217 

Women  go  and  come  there  every  day.  There  is  nothing  to 
distinguish  me  from  the  crowd.  The  only  difficulty  I  shall 
have  will  be  to  see  Mansa  and  get  her  away." 

Hal  assented  to  this. 

Then  Kate  continued:  "I  told  Mansa  if  I  came  it  would 
be  on  Tuesday,  any  Tuesday,  and  to  watch  tor  me  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  cabins.  Now  you  boys  have  a  week's  supply 
in  the  house,  and  to-morrow  morning  I  start." 

On  the  morrow  she  did  start.  On  Tuesday  she  was  at 
Anderson ville.  The  first  person  she  saw  at  the  depot  was 
John  Mason.  She  passed  close  to  him,  slipped  a  note  in  his 
nand  and  whispered,  "  Dear  Jack,  old  boy."  Then  she  saun- 
tered leisurely  down  the  railroad. 

On  the  previous  visit  she  went  to  the  pen.  But  Hal  was 
there  then.  Now  she  would  not  look  on  its  horrors  for  an 
empire.  She  walked  down  the  track  out  of  sight  of  the  pen 
and  the  crowd.  Then  she  turned  into  a  screening  of  bushes. 
It  was  a  tireful  day.  All  waiting  is  tireful.  But  night 
came  at  last,  and  Kate  walked  back  up  the  railroad  until  she 
crossed  the  Sweetwater.  Then  she  followed  the  path  and  the 
road  through  the  woods  to  the  Titefist  place.  An  hundred 
yards  east  of  the  cabin  there  was  a  soft  step  in  the  road 
behind  her.  A  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder.  Kate  almost 
swooned  from  fright.  Then  a  voice  whispered  in  her  ear:  "I 
know'd  yo'd  come!     Know'd  yo'd  come!  " 

"Oh,  dear  Mansa!" 

"  Jupe,  am  he  safe?" 

In  a  few  words  Kate  told  her  story  and  her  plan.  Then 
the  two  turned  their  faces  toward  the  north  star  and  walked 
on  tlirough  the  silent  forest.  Before  daylight  they  reached  a 
station  far  up  the  railroad  between  Andersohville  and  Macon. 
Having  made  sure  of  this  fact  they  walked  along  the  wagon 
road  eastward  until  they  were  secure  from  observation.  Then 
they  turned  from  the  road  into  the  bushes  and  waited  until 
Kate's  watch  told  her  it  was  near  train  time.  Then  they 
emerged  from  the  bushes — a  white  woman,  plainly  dressed, 
and — a  negro  man.  A  little  too  full  about  tlie  bosom  this  man 
was,  if  examined  closely  ;  but  a  good  enough  man  for  any  but 


218  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

the  closest  scrutiny.  They  wtilked  boldly  up  to  the  depot. 
The  woman  bought  tickets  to  Macon.  At  Macon  she  bought 
tickets  to  Savannah,  and  the  next  day  Kate  and  Hal,  Mansa 
and  .Jupiter  were  happy.  Then  Mansa  told  what  followed 
the  escape. 

Parson  Sniggins  had  frequently  stayed  all  night  with  the 
officers  at  the  stockade.  The  first  day  his  family  thought 
nothing  of  his  failure  to  return  ;  but  on  the  second  day  they 
sent  to  inquire.  One  of  the  men  at  last  remembered.  "  Saw 
a  yaller  woman  talking  to  iiim.''  Heard  her.  Mrs.  Titefist 
wanted  him.  They  hurried  over  to  the  Titefist  place.  Mrs. 
Titefist  didn't  send  for  him.     No  yellow  woman  about. 

Riddle. 

More  search. 

Then  more  complication. 

Sniggins's  pass  had  been  taken  up  at  the  gate. 

Who  used  it  ? 

Search  ! 

"Puss  Cat"  gone.    No  one  knew  how.     Must  have  flown! 

Hounds  were  taken  out. 

No  use  ;  it  had  rained  heavily,  and  water  knocks  the  snout 
off  a  dog. 

Late  on  that  day  Mansa  walked  into  the  third  cabin,  very 
innocent  like,  and  saw  the  captives. 

"  Clah  to  massy  !    what  you  uns  doin  heali !  Tied  !    Gags 
too  !     Po'  mans  !  " 

She  unlashed  them.  They  were  stiff  and  sore.  Sniggins 
declared  it  was  "awful  cruelty  !  Uidiuman  to  leave  men  tied 
and  gagged  two  days  and  nothing  to  eat.  Tied  by  a  humpback 
niggali  an' a  yallah  gal.  Cut  'em  to  pieces  !  Yes,  cut  'em  to 
pieces  !     Too  good  foh  'em."     Then  they  inquired  of  Mansa  : 

"  Where's  the  yallali  gal  ?  " 

"  What  fo' yallah  gal?" 

"And  the  humpback  niggah  ?" 

"  Clah  ef  ebbah  I  know  a  humpback  niggah  !  " 

"  And  the  prisoner  !  " 

"Clah  ter  goodness  !     What  yer  tawkin  'bout  ?" 

The  questions  were  put  in  a  hundred  different  forms.    The 


"  UNCLE    BILLY    DONE    COME    WID    DE    UNIOX."  219 

parson  roared  and  the  sergeant  swore,  but  Mansa's  face  was  a 
Hercynian  wood. 

People  said  "the  slaves  are  fools." 

Try  to  penetrate  one. 

They  were  the  perfect  masters  of  mask. 

When  they  dropped  the  curtain  there  was  no  peep  hole  to 
the  stage. 

The  released  captives  hurried  away  to  the  stockade. 
Thence  with  the  dogs  to  Flint  River.  The  parson  wanted  to 
see  the  "  Humpback  niggah  cut  to  pieces.  Yes,  sail !  cut  to 
pieces.  Brutal  wretches  to  leave  gentlemen  two  days,  sah  ! 
yes,  sah  !  two  whole  days,  without  food  !  monstus  !  "  And 
Wirz  would  give  "  A  tousan'  tollar  to  dramp  on  de  Yankee's 
pones !  " 

Days  and  days  they  searched.  They  tore  Coe's  house  on 
Flint  River  inside  out. 

"  Know  they  went  that  way,"  so  Sniggins  said.  "  Heard 
it  through  a  chink  in  the  cabin.  Providence  provided  it ! 
Yes,  sah.  Providence  !  Yes,  sah,  for  the  South,  sah  !  Thought 
there  was  no  window,  but  thar  was  the  chink." 

And  Mansa,  as  she  told  it,  would  bring  her  great  hands 
down  on  her  knees  with  a  tremendous  thud  to  think  "  How  we 
uns  done  fool  um." 

Months  passed,  August,  September,  October.  They  were 
undisturbed  and  very  happy.  They  attracted  no  attention. 
No  one  thought  of  them  in  the  bustling  crowd.  But  there  is 
nothing  so  dangerous  as  easy  success.  On  the  morning  of  No- 
vember 23d,  Kate  went  to  market.  Mansa  insisted  on  going 
with  her.  Kate  protested.  Mansa  persisted.  "  I'ze  shame 
fo'  you  to  carry  de  big  bask't.  Dey  done  forget  we  dis  lang 
time."  So  Mansa  went.  Their  purchases  were  made.  Mansa 
placed  the  basket  on  her  head  and  trudged  on  behind  Kate. 
Half  way  home  they  turned  a  corner.  At  the  corner  they 
almost  ran  up  against  a  man. 

"  Dawgd,  Mansa  !  " 

"Ki,  datyou!  How'de  !  how'de  !  Clah  !  Clah  !  How'de 
mistus  ?  Clah  !  Clah  !  ef  I  ebbah  so  glad  sence  I  done 
bawn  !     An'  dat  yo'  ;  yo'  sho  nuff  seff — my  good  old   maws 


220  BRISTLING   WITH    THORNS. 

Duke  !  How'de  !  how'de  !  "  And  Mansa  seized  one  of  the 
man's  hands  and  shook  it  while  she  danced  about  liim,  her 
tongue  keeping  pace  with  her  feet.  "  Missey  Jone,  dis  my 
good  ole  sho  nuff  maws.  Yo'  Cliloe  done  fool  yo',  Missey  Jone. 
I'ze  no  free  gal." 

"  An'  yeu  told  tlie  lady  thet  ?  "  It  was  the  first  sentence 
Marmaduke  Titefist — for  it  was  he  they  ran  against — could  in- 
terject in  the  storm  of  words. 

"  Vze  did  dat,  Maws  Duke." 

"I  thought  she  was  free,"  said  Kate.  The  words  came 
trembling  from  her  lips. 

"  Clah  !  Clah  !  "  continued  Mansa,  as  she  seized  a  small 
satchel  that  Titefist  held  in  his  hand  and  placed  it  on  her 
head  ;  "  take  I  wid  yo',  Maws  Duke  ;  dat's  good  maws.  Clah, 
I'ze  de  mizablest  gal.  An'  how's  de  ole  missy  ?  How  de  ole 
missy  ?  Yo'  look  gran',  Maws  Duke.  An'  how  de  ole  place  ?" 
Her  back  was  turned  to  Kate.  She  never  looked  at 
her. 

"What  did  yer  run  away  fer  ?  " 

"  I  done  gits  de  megrims  fer  lonsome  widout  de  uddah 
niggahs." 

"  An'  how  yer  git  heah  ?  " 

"  I'ze  done  wawk." 

"  Well,  dad-rat  yer  impudence!  I'm  on  my  way  home 
now.     Will  yer  go  in  quiet." 

"  De  Laws,  Maws  Duke.  I'ze  pow'ful  glad  ter  git  back  teu 
de  ole  place.     Pow'ful  glad.     Pow'ful  glad." 

Then  she  turned  to  Kate.  "  Good-bye,  Missey  Jone  !  I'ze 
gwine  with  good  ole  maws.     Gib  my  lub  to  de  chilhm." 

Then  again  she  turned  her  back  on  Kate.  There  was  not 
a  tremor  in  lier  voice,  or  a  shade  of  sadness  in  her  eye.  Sho 
stood  beside  her  master  with  his  satchel  on  her  head,  chatter- 
ing about  her  mistress  and  the  old  place.  Kate  was  dumb- 
founded. But  the  mask  and  the  lies  opened  the  way  for  safe 
retreat.  She  drew  ten  dollars  from  her  purse  and  reached  it 
toward  Mansa.  "Well,  Chloe,  I'm  sorry  to  part  with  you,  but 
here's  your  month's  wages."  "  Tankee,  Miss  Molly  ;  "  and 
she  reached  her  hand  for  the  money.     But  Marmaduke  Tite- 


"uncle  billy  done  come  wid  de  union."  221 

fist's  arm  was  the  longest.     He  took  the  money  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"  So  you  infernal  nig,  you  had  to  change  yer  name  too,  eh  !  " 

"  Ki  !  coase  Maws  Duke,  coase  !  Golly,  but  I'ze  gwine 
home,  dat  I  is,  to  good  ole  missy." 

Then  she  danced  again. 

Titefist  drew  out  his  watch.  "  Come,  there's  no  time  for 
talk."  And  he  hurried  away  with  Mansa  to  the  train,  and 
Mansa  never  looked  back.  She  knew  that  to  run  was  useless, 
and  it  would  bring  ruin  upon  the  others.  Kate  was  alone  with 
her  basket  and  misery,  and  she  was  full  of  wonder  at  the  cun- 
ning and  repression  of  the  slave's  misery. 

Many  doleful  days  followed.  Then  they  heard  that  Sher- 
man had  cut  the  Macon  railroad.  "  Oh  !  if  he  had  only  in- 
tercepted Mansa."  They  did  not  know.  On  the  day  that 
Titefist  and  Mansa  left  Savannah,  Howard  tapped  the  Macon 
road  at  Gordon.  As  the  train  with  Titefist  on  it  neared  Gor- 
don there  was  a  danger  signal. 

Toot !     Toot !     Toot ! 

Shrill  screams  from  the  engine. 

Down  brakes  ! 

Windows  opened. 

Heads  out. 

Gray  uniforms  all  around. 

"  Out  !     Out !     Out !     Everybody  out !  " 
.    "What's  the  matter?" 

"  Been  a  fight  ahead.     Need  the  train  for  wounded." 

Passengers  scrambled  out.  Looked  about.  Everybody 
for  himself.  Titefist  was  caught  in  the  hurly-burly.  Then  he 
looked. 

"  Whar's  my  she  niggah  !  Dad-rot  that  she-niggah  !  Her 
infernal  jy  wur  all  possum  !  " 

News  from  up  the  road. 

Yanks  cummin' ! 

Git! 

Helter  skelter  !     Right  and  left,  away  they  went. 

The  grays  went  eastward. 

The  others  ran  wherever  they  could  go. 


232  BUISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Then  the  blues  came.  Tearing  up  the  rails,  turning,  twist- 
ing, curling  them. 

Hurrah  for  the  Bummers ! 

Then  a  curly  black  blossom  rose  on  the  tops  of  the  bushes. 

"Ki!  Glad  to  see  yer,  is  I,  Maws  Duke!  Halleluyah  ! 
dey's  de  ones  I'ze  glad  ter  see." 

Then  she  ran  out  to  the  blues.  There  were  other  colored 
people. 

Hundreds  of  them. 

Thousands  of  them. 

They  were  at  the  rails. 

Mansa  went  too. 

She  tore  at  the  rails  all  along  down  the  road. 

Mansa  was  a  '-bummer  ! " 

In  Savannah  there  was  dismay. 

Sherman  coming  ! 

The  news  filtered  slowly  into  the  seclusion  of  Kate's  home. 

On  the  night  of  December  20th  the  city  was  a  bedlam. 
Men,  women,  children,  hurrying,  running,  wringing  hands, 
cursing,  screaming,  bawling  ;  horses,  mules,  wagons,  carts, 
drays,  hogs,  cattle,  furniture,  rush,  creak,  crash  and  rattle. 
Confusion  everywhere  ! 

And  outside  the  city,  all  through  the  afternoon  and  even- 
ing, there  was  boom  !  boom  !  boom  ! 

The  little  cottage  was  sealed.  Its  inmates  lay  down  un- 
dressed. 

At  tln-ee  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  21st,  the  boom  ! 
boom  !  boom  !   was  hushed.     The   clatter  in   tlie   streets   was 
subsidinjr.     The  first  flush  of  day  was  gilding  the  eastern  hori- 
zon.    Kate  sat  up  suddenly  in  bed.     Put  her  hand  to  her  ear. 
Leaped  to  the  floor. 

"  Hal  !     Hal!     Jupe  !     Jupe  !     Listen  !     Listen  !  " 
It  was  she  who  was  making  the  noise.     She  rushed  to  tiie 
door,  opened  it  a  little,  and  peeped  out.     She  heard  a  sound 
that  thrilled  her  soul. 

It  was  Yankee  Doodle. 

"  Hal  !  Jupe  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  If  Mansa  was  only  here  now. 
Come.     Come." 


UNCLE    BILLY  DONE   COME  WID  DE   XTN^IO^T." 
223 


"uncle  billy  doxe  come  wid  de  union."  225 

She  rushed  down  the  path  to  the  street.  Hal  and  Jupe, 
bareheaded,  stood  beside  her.  Up  the  street  they  heard  a 
measured  tramp,  tramp,  tramp.  They  saw  a  crowd  in  blue — 
a  flao:  at  its  head  ;  before  it  drums  and  fifes,  and  "  Yankee 
Doodle  !  " 

"Hurrah!" 

"  Oh,  if  Mansa  was  only  here  now  ! " 

"  Oh,  look  at  that  woman  !  "     Kate  pointed  her  out. 

The  woman  was  marching  ahead  of  the  drum  corps. 

One  hand  was  reaching  behind  her,  beckoning  on. 

One  hand  grasping  the  tattered  remnants  of  a  soldier's  hat, 
stretched  out  before  her,  was  pointing  ahead,  she  grew  dis- 
tinct in  the  oTOwins:  lio;ht. 

It  was  Mansa.     They  could  hear  her  voice. 

"  Dis  yeah  de  way  !  Dis  yeah  de  way  !  Fastah  !  Fastah  ! 
Dis  yeah  de  way!  Dah  dey  is  !  Dah  dey  is  !  Glory  to  God  ! 
Miss  Kate  !  Maws  Hal  !  Jupe  !  Jupe  !  Hallelujah  !  Unckle 
Billy  done  come  wid  de  Union  !  "  * 

*  During  the  march  to  the  sea  the  boys  would  say,  ''  Uncle  Billy  is  here  ! "  "  Uncle 
Billy  is  here  !  "  "Uncle  Billy  says  this  !"  "  Uncle  Billy  says  that !  "  Nothing  for  Gen. 
Sherman,  but  "  Uncle  Billy  ! " 


15 


226  BRISTLING    WITH   THOfiNS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


TUE    AVRECK    OF   WAR. 


The  war  was  over.  The  wreck  of  the  Confederate  army 
drifted  slowly  over  the  South.  Early  in  June,  1865,  a  horse- 
man appeared  on  the  road  above  the  Ratley  cabin.  He  wore 
a  gray  uniform  It  was  rusty,  dusty  and  travel  stained.  His 
horse  was  walking.  Even  that  seemed  painful  to  the  jaded 
beast.  In  front  of  the  cabin  the  rider  drew  rein.  When  he 
did  the  horse  halted  and  spread  his  legs  wide  apart,  as  fagged 
horses  will  Many  minutes  the  horseman  looked  upon  the 
cabin.  Once  he  turned  the  horse's  head  as  if  he  would  ride 
to  it.  Then  he  faced  about  and  pursued  his  journey,  under 
branches  covered  with  translucent,  pearly  berries  ;  past  un- 
tilled  fields,  crested  with  the  foam  of  green,  rustling  leaves. 
Then  he  struck  a  track  of  desolation.  An  army  had  passed 
there,  devouring  like  locusts.  Fences  were  gone,  forests  had 
disappeared.  It  was  a  track  of  ruin.  In  the  center  of  the 
track  he  turned  into  an  unfenced  field,  along  a  road  grass- 
grown  and  fringed  with  poplars.  At  first  the  trees  were  green. 
As  he  went  on  foliage  disappeared.  At  the  end  of  the  avenue 
the  trees  were  lifeless  and  charred.  Under  the  dead  limbs 
the  rider  halted  and  looked.  Before  him  two  chimneys  stood, 
scorched  and  blackened  monuments  of  habitations.  Between 
was  a  waste  of  ashes.  The  rider  dismounted,  and  standing 
by  the  horse,  one  hand  resting  on  the  saddle,  he  gazed  in 
silence  upon  all  that  was  left  of  a  once  beautiful  and  happy 
home. 

An  aged  negro,  with  the  aid  of  a  heavy  stick,  shambled  up 
the  path,  from  a  collection  of  cabins  across  the  field  in  the 
rear  of  the  house.  Behind  one  of  the  chimneys  he  too  paused; 
then  moved  on  and  paused  again,  looking  down  at  the  ashes. 


THE    WRECK    OF    WAR.  227 

As   he    turned    he    observed    tlie    horseman   and    approached, 
him. 

"  How'de  mawstah  ?  " 

The  rider  answered,  "  How'de  ?" 

The  negro  picked  up  his  ears.  His  old  eyes  brightened. 
He  rubbed  them,  and  shambled  rapidly  toward  the  man  and 
the  horse.  "  I  know'd  ye  !  I  knowd  ye  !  Dat  voice  ! 
Heabens,  Maws  Walt  !  an'  dat  yo'  !  Yo'  sho'  nofF  sef.  Bress 
de  Lawd,  dese  ole  eyes  done  seed  yer  agin  fo'  I  gwos  !" 

The  rider  was  deeply  affected.  "Yes,  Awk,  it's  me  ;  what 
there's  left  of  me,  sure  enouo^h  !  " 

"  My  po'  chile,  po'  chile.  How  yo'  mus'  hab  done  suffah'd 
'n  den  you  come  home  to  dis.  An'  de  mistus.  Goodness  ! 
Goodness  alibe  !  " 

"  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Yan,"  pointing  across  the  field  ;  "  in  de  big  cabin." 

"And  well  ?"  ' 

'' Yis,  bress  de  Lawd  !  an'  won't  she  jump.  Ki,an'  dis  yo' 
sho'  nuff,  clah,  it  jess  take  my  breff  way  fo'  glad."  He  had 
dropped  his  cane  and  stood  with  uncovered  head  and  hands 
raised  towards  the  heavens. 

"And  how  are  you,  Awk  ?" 

"  Oh,  Maws  Walt  !  " 

"  Not  Master  Walt  any  more  ?  " 

"  Dat  you  is.  Dai  you  is.  You'ze  my  Maws  Walt  all 
your  bawn  days,  sho,  sho.  Bress  you,  honey.  Who  else  hab. 
No,  sah.  I'ze  been  Awk  an'  youze  bin  Maws  Walt,  and  I'ze 
gwan  to  be  Awk  an'  yo'  own  sef  Maws  Walt  ter  the  eend— 
an'  I'ze  nigh  dah — moas  nigh  dah." 

"  Thank  you,  x\wk,  and  you  are  well  ?  " 

"  Yas,  sah,  wid  the  rbeumatiz,  an'  de  new  freedom,  an'  wid 
dis  and  wid  dat,  I'ze  gettin  on  tolable,  sah,  tolable." 

As  they  talked  they  were  walking  together  across  the  field. 
Half  way  over  a  woman  stood  in  the  door  of  the  great  cabin. 
She  saw  the  men  in  the  field.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her 
hands  and  took  one  look.  "  Oh,  Oh  !  "  Then  she  ran  out. 
In  the  field  she  flung  her  arms  about  the  man.  She  kissed 
him  ;  she  hung  about  his  neck.     She  wept ;  she  laughed  ;  she 


228  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS, 

exclaimed,  and  she  hugged  ai^aiii  ;  and  as  they  walked  on  to- 
wards the  cabin  she  would  laugh  and  talk  and  whirl  about  and 
hug  him  again.  From  out  of  the  little  cabins  came  a  black 
swarm.  The  old  hobbling  ;  the  young  running.  They  gath- 
ered about  the  horseman,  they  seized  him,  they  clasped  his 
body,  they  clung  to  his  legs  ;  they  danced,  they  laughed,  and 
they  hurrahed..  Thus  after  four  years  of  war  Walter  Tren- 
hom  was  welcomed  to  his  home. 

From  the  day  when  he  disappeared  in  the  cloud  of  dust 
he  had  never  returned.  He  knew  that  his  house  lay  in  the 
track  of  an  army  ;  that  guerillas  had  made  a  shelter  there  to 
shoot  stragglers,  and  that  it  had  been  burned.  Thus  the  des- 
olation that  lay  about  him  was  no  surprise.  Walter  and  his 
wife  talked  long  into  the  night.  At  least  the  woman  did,  and 
she  thought  it  was  very  nice.  If  you  wish  to  be  thought  the 
nicest  fellow  in  the  world  just  say  "yes"  and  "no"  and  ap- 
pear to  be  immensely  interested  while  a  chatty  woman  lets  her 
tongue  run. 

Why  shouldn't  Mrs.  Lou  Trenhom  be  happy?  The 
dreadful  war  was  over.  She  had  her  husband  home  and 
safe,  and  she  was  telling  him  how  she  had  heard  of  him  here 
and  heard  of  him  there,  and  what  everybody  said,  how  good 
and  kind  and  brave  he  was,  and  how  nobly  all  the  colored 
people  behaved.  She  had  an  immense  deal  to  tell,  and  while 
she  talked,  squeezing  his  hands,  toying  with  his  whiskers,  and 
passing  her  soft  hands  over  his  hair,  he  was  sitting,  submitting 
and  thinking.  This  is  what  he  thought,  "  She  is  wonderful 
and  so  good.  Not  one  word  about  all  the  ruin  I  have  helped 
bring  upon  her.  Not  once  does  she  say,  *  I  told  you  so.'  " 
She  did  tell  him  so  at  the  beginning,  before  the  war.  But 
she  did  not  thrust  it  as  a  thorn  in  his  side  now.  So  many  do 
that.  The  "  I  told  you  so"  family  is  immense.  A  punctur- 
ing  tribe.  Pricking  and  lancing.  Lou  Trenhom  was  not  one 
of  them.  Neither  then  or  ever  after  did  she  allude  to  it. 
When  speaking  of  the  old  servants  and  telling  how  they  all 
remained  and  how  good  they  had  been,  she  did  say,  *  Walter, 
one  great  good  has  come  out  of  it  all — slavery  is  gone.  I  am 
so  glad.'* 


THE    WRECK    OF    WAR.  229 

"  So  am  I,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  heartily  glad — heartily 
glad!" 

When  Mrs.  Lou  heard  it  she  was  very  happy.  She  knew 
that  defeat  had  left  no  seed  of  bitterness  behind  it. 

*  Two  weeks  after  this  another  figure  approached  Slimpton. 
As  he  neared  the  town  he  turned  into  the  forest  and  pushed 
on  until  the  town  was  passed  ;  then  he  took  the  road  again 
a*id  walked  on  with  a  lazy,  shiftless  gait  until  he  reached  the 
front  of  the  Ratley  cabin.  There  he  paused.  A  fence  had 
grown  up  along  the  road.  The  intervening  weeds,  brush, 
stumps  and  hog  wallow  had  disappeared.  Near  the  cabin 
were  flower-beds,  brilliant 'with  pink,  carnation  and  violet. 
Lower  down  toward  the  road  were  beds  of  lettuce,  young 
onions,  radishes  and  peas.  The  man  stuffed  his  hands  in  his 
breeches  pockets  and  opened  his  eyes.  Then  he  saw  that  the 
openings  between  the  logs  had  been  filled,  that  the  window 
was  occupied  by  a  sash  and  glass.  The  man  whistled.  Then 
he  sputtered,  "  Dawgawn  !   wonder  whah  Lindy's  gone." 

By  the  roadside  near  the  man  was  a  huge  log.  He  sat 
down  on  the  I02:  and  drank  in  the  scene.  It  was  an  amazingr 
transformation.  As  he  said  after,  he  was  "  clar  upsot."  The 
man  took  off  his  hat  and  rubbed  his  head  with  the  ends  of  his 
fingers.  Then  he  muttered,  "  Reckon  I  kin  ask  wher  she'um  !  " 
With  this  idea  he  stood  up,  walked  over  to  the  gate  and  up 
through  the  path  to  the  cabin.  As  he  approached  it  a  woman 
stood  in  the  doorway.  Seeing  her  the  man  paused.  He  was 
riveted  to  the  ground.  His  mouth  and  eyes  were  both  wide 
open.  He  was  looking  with  both.  It  was  what  they  call  open- 
mouthed  wonder.  The  woman  who  stood  in  the  door  wore  a 
cheap  dress,  neatly  made,  and  it  was  whole  and  clean.  Her 
brown  hair  was  brushed  back  from  her  forehead  and  bound  in 
a  great  coil  behind.  The  pure  pink  and  white,  un wrinkled 
face,  was  voluble  of  good  health,  content  and  sweet  temper. 
When  the  man  had  fully  devoured  the  scene  his  tongue 
started  :  "G-a-w-1  —  Y-e-u-u  — Lin-d  y  Yan  !  Dawgawn  ! 
How'de!" 

For  a  full  minute  the  woman  stood  looking  at  him  in  silence. 
Some  children  came  to  the  doorway.     She  pushed  them  gently 


230  BEISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

back,  drew  the  door  close,  and  walked  down  behind  the  car- 
nations to  the  man.  Then  she  spoke.  Her  voice  was  very 
soft,  and  without  a  trace  of  emotion  :  "  Joe  Ratley,  I  thought 
you  were  dead  !  " 

"Yerdid!" 

"  I  did  !  " 

"  Ha  !     Ha  !     Yer  see  I  hain't  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  Joe  !  " 

"  Sorry  I  hain't  dead  !  Yer  be.  Yer  a  good  wife,  hain't 
yer  ?     Sorry  I  hain't  dead  !  " 

"I  think  I  am,  Joe." 

"Think!     Gawl  !     Think!" 

"Yes,  Joe,  I  heard  it  or  dreamt  it,  one  or  t'other,  and  I 
never  thought  of  you  since,  that  I  remember,  Joe." 

"  Never  thort  o'  yer  husband  !     Gawl !  " 

"Joe!" 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  that  made  Joe  prick  up 
his  ears. 

"  Eh  !  " 

"  Joe,  if  you  swear  here  again  you  must  walk  off  the  way 
you  came.     Yes,  Joe,  swearing  is  not  allowed  here." 

"  Not  swar  on  my  own  place  !  " 

'*  It  is  not  your  place,  Joe.  1  don't  know  whose  it  is.  I 
live  here.  My  chil'un  live  here.  They  haven't  heard  swear- 
ing, and  they  shan't,  Joe.     Joe,  they  shall  not  hear  swearing." 

If  this  woman  had  been  the  least  little  bit  excited  he  would 
have  been  in  clover.  He  could  understand  that.  But  to 
plunge  a  threat  at  him  on  such  a  dead  level  of  calmness,  with- 
out an  extra  flush  on  her  cheek  or  an  extra  flash  in  her  eyes, 
that  was  too  much  for  Joe.  His  was  not  a  retentive  memory, 
but  somehow  a  vision  of  that  long  ago,  when  he  lay  bound  on 
the  cabin  floor  writhing  under  Lindy's  blows,  rose  u{)  before 
him.     Then  he  said  : 

"  Well,  ef  I  kan't,  I  hain't  gwanter.    AVher's  the  chillun?" 

Melinda  pointed  to  the  cabin.  Joe  moved  toward  it.  Then 
Mel  in  da  spoke  again: 

"  Joe,  you  can't  go  in  there.     Not  there,  Joe." 

"Can't?     Ain't  you  my  woman?" 


THE    WRECK   OF   WAR.  231 

"  I  don't  know,  Joe. 

"  Waal  !     Dod— " 

"Stop,  Joe  !  " 

Joe  became  dumb.  Melinda  stood  facing  him  with  unruf- 
fled face.     Then  she  said: 

"Joe,  you  come  here  to-morrow.  I'll  see  Mrs.  Trenhom 
first.     Then  I'll  tell  you  what's  to  be.     To-morrow." 

This  was  Joe  Ratley's  welcome  home,  and  he  was  forced 
to  be  content  with  it.  On  the  morrow  he  returned.  MeJinda 
met  liim  at  the  gate. 

"Joe,"  she  said,  "Mrs.  Trenhom  says  our  marrying  was  no 
marrying  at  all,  and  we  must  be  married  over  before  you 
comes  here.  I'm  set  against  it,  Joe.  Yes,  set  against  it. 
But  bhe  thinks  it  best  for  the  children,  Joe,  and  I'll  do  as  she 
says." 

That  afternoon  they  went  before  a  minister  and  were  mar- 
ried. Melinda  doubted  its  wisdom  then  and  afterward.  But 
she  believed  in  Mrs.  Trenhom,  she  had  been  so  good  to  her. 
When  her  husband  went  away  Mrs.  Trenhom  remembered 
what  he  had  said  about  this  woman  of  the  filthy  cabin.  With 
many  misgivings  she  drove  there.  Lindy  m.et  her  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Trenhom's  first  impulse  was  to  turn  away  in  disgust. 
Lindy  was  standing  tattered  and  barefooted  on  the  sun-b;iked 
earth  in  front  of  the  cabin.  A  little  nude  girl  was  clinging 
to  her  faded  dress.  As  the  child  peeped  out  from  behind  she 
drew  her  mother's  torn  garments  against  her  limbs,  thrusting 
one  soiled  knee  and  part  of  the  rounded  limb  through  the 
rent.  The  only  attraction  about  Lindy  and  the  child  were 
their  faces  and  their  poverty.  Mrs.  Trenhom  admired  the 
children,  nude,  ragged  and  dirty  as  they  were.  It  was  honest 
admiration  and  it  was  cunning.  If  a  woman  has  a  heart  any- 
where about  her  the  way  to  reach  it  is  to  admire  her  children. 
Cunning?  Yes;  the  cunningest  thing  in  the  world  is  honesty. 
Melinda  was  caught  in  the  net  of  Mrs.  Trenhom's  admiration. 
She  was  so  nice.  So  thought  Melinda  ;  and  she  was  the  first 
educated  woman,  the  first  lady  who  had  ever  spoken  to  her. 
Mrs.  Trenhom  persuaded  the  mother  to  accept  dresses  for  the 
"  sweet  children,"  and  they  were  very  pretty  when  they  were 


232  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

dressed.  Then  she  took  them  to  her  own  home.  There  a  col- 
ored servant,  after  many  protests  against  "  low-downs,"  washed 
them,  combed  and  brushed  their  hair,  primped  them  up,  jrave 
them  a  good  dinner  and  took  them  home  again.  Melinda 
noticed  the  change.  That  was  the  beginning  of  washing  and 
brushing.  From  that  out  she  continued  it.  Tlien  came  the 
house.  One  of  Mrs.  Trenhom's  servants  dropped  along  with 
a  broom.  She  entered  the  cabin  as  if  by  chance  and  sat  awhile. 
"Sun  so  hot."  That's  what  she  said.  "  Clah,  honey,  youze 
gibbin  me  a  roof  fro'  de  sun,  an'  watah  ;  jis  a  little  watah, 
honey."  One  of  the  children  brought  the  water.  Then  the 
colored  woman  said:  "Clah,  sweet  honey,  now  I'ze  gwine  tu 
help  yer  wash  up  to  pay  fo't,"  and  without  a  word  the  woman 
soused  the  floor,  and  soused  and  scrubbed  until  everything 
within  looked  like  a  new  pin.  Melinda  looked  on  in  wonder, 
She  never  knew  it  was  part  of  a  cunning  plot.  Then  came 
Mrs.  Trenhom,  very  innocent  like,  as  if  she  had  not  jDrompted 
the  colored  woman  with  the  bro  tm.  "  Oh  !  how  nice  this  is. 
Now,  if  the  walls  were  whitewashed  and  a  window  there." 
You  see  she  was  cunningly  working  without  offending. 

So  one  improvement  followed  another.  Lindy  was  a  child 
in  mind.  She  was  incapable  of  devising.  But  being  shown 
she  learned.  One  day  Mrs.  Trenhom  proposed  to  hire  a  col- 
ored man  to  Lindy. 

Lindy  couldn't  pay. 

"  Never  mind,  dear  ;  you'll  see  he  will  earn  enough  to 
pay." 

The  man  came  ;  with  him  fences,  a  garden  and  flowers. 
The  cabin  and  its  surroundings  were  rising  out  of  tho  mud 

The  children  were  delighted  with  their  dresses,  with  their 
new  life,  with  the  flowers,  with  everything,  and  in  the  light  of 
their  joy  Lindy  blossomed  into  a  new  being. 

Then  Mrs.  Trenhom  pioposed  education.  If  the  children 
would  come  to  her  house  for  an  hour  every  day.  They  went. 
They  mastered  A,  B,  C,  and  marched  on  into  the  mystery  of 
combining  letters.  As  the  little  ones  learned  they  taught 
mother.  Thus  they  all  marched  on  together.  Reading  opened 
a  new  world  to  Melinda.     She  began  to  grasp  the  idea  of  a 


THE    WRECK    OF    WAR.  233 

God.  She  had  never  heard  it  before  except  in  profanation. 
Within  and  without  she  was  purified.  She  buried  the  "cracker" 
with  her  ignorance  and  filth.  It  was  this  new  woman  that  Joe 
married. 

All  the  way  from  the  minister  to  the  gate  Joe's  tongue  was 
on  hinges.     Melinda  was  silent.     At  the  gate  she  turned. 

"Joe,"  she  said,  "I  have  heard  you.  I  married  you  be- 
cause Mrs.  Trenhom  thinks  it's  best  for  the  children:  For 
them  I  would  do  anything.  For  them,  Joe,  I  have  married 
you,  and  I  think  it  is  the  hardest  of  all.  Yes,  I  think  it  is. 
I  don't  like  you,  Joe.  I  never  did  since  you  struck  me,  Joe  ! 
And,  Joe,  I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  go  away  I  think  'twould  be 
best  for  the  children  !  " 

"Lindy  !  now  look  year  !  " 

"  You're  the  same,  Joe.  Yes,  I  know  that  from  what  you've 
been  saying,  Joe." 

"'  You're  gittin'  awdacious  peart." 

"  Peart  enough  by  the  help  of  a  good  woman  to  get  out  of 
the  ignorance  and  nastiness  where  you  left  me,  Joe." 

"  Yaas,  mighty  peart." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  Joe,  we're  not  to  be  dragged  down  again. 
No,  Joe,  not  down  again." 

"  Whose  draggin'  on  ye  ?  " 

Melinda  stood  with  her  back  to  the  gate.  A  minute  or 
two  passed  in  silence.     Then  she  said: 

"Joe,  before  you  go  in  here,  you  must  promise  you  won't 
swear  before  the  children." 

"Whose  gwin'  ter  ?" 

"  That  won't  do,  Joe.     You've  got  to  promise,  Joe." 

"  Well,  I  promise." 

"  And  that  you  won't  beat  them." 

"Ain't  I  their  dad?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  you  are,  Joe." 

"Waal." 

"  But  you  shall  not  beat  them.  No,  Joe.  They  are  good 
children.  Yes,  good  children.  Better  than  any  dream  I  ever 
had  of  them,  and  they  shan't  be  dogged  backward.  No,  Joe, 
not  backward." 


234  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  Wall,  I  shan't  tech  'em." 

"And  you  must  not  come  there  drunk." 

"  Ef  a  fellar  gits  a  little  too  much  he  won't  think." 

"I  reckon  you'd  best  remember.  I  reckon  you'd  best, 
Joe." 

He  opened  his  great  mouth  again  and  looked — the  vision 
of  the  thongs  was  before  him — then  he  said  :  "  Yaas,  reckon 
I'd  best.     1  ain't  grwan  to  foro^it." 

After  this  warning,  Joe  walked  up  to  the  cabin.  When 
they  first  walked  up  to  this  cabin  years  ago,  Lindy  followed 
Joe.     Now  Joe  followed  Lindy. 

The  war  ruined  many,  but  it  was  a  Providence  to  Lindy 
Ratley  and  her  children,  and  it  was  an  inestimable  benefit  to 
many  poor  whites.  It  broadened  their  visions  and  seeded 
them  with  thought.  It  lifted  them  up.  Many  staid  up. 
Others  no  leverage  could  elevate.  What  they  were  before 
the  war  they  remained.  A  rock  can  be  rolled  to  the  height 
and  it  will  stay.  Sludge  must  be  carried  and  then  it  washes 
and  slides  back  to  the  depths.  Melinda  owed  her  new  life  to 
Mrs.  Trenhom.  She  began  it  ;  she  continued  it.  But  once 
begun  DaleCartier's  wife  became  an  efficient  assistant.  These 
two  women,  Erma  Cartier  and  Louise  Trenhom,  were  fast 
friends.  Before  the  war  they  were  intimates.  Their  husbands 
were  boys  together,  then  officers  in  the  same  regiment,  en- 
countering the  same  privations.  Then  the  common  danger  of 
their  husbands  knit  them  firmer  together.  When  the  Trenhom 
place  was  burned,  Cartier's  home  escaped.  When  Erma  saw 
the  red  sky  the  night  of  the  fire,  she  knew  it  must  be  her 
friend's  house  or  cabins,  and  with  a  single  negro  attendant 
drove  at  once  to  the  scene  of  ruin.  She  found  Mrs.  Trenhom, 
heard  how  the  fire  occurred  and  begun  to  rail  at  "the  vandal- 
ism."    But  Mrs.  Trenholm  quickly  bridled  the  friendly  tongue. 

"I  don't  blame  them  at  all — not  at  all.  Guerrillas  used  it 
against  my  protest,  to  shoot  stragglers.  That  was  simply  mur- 
der. The  Union  troops  have  respected  all  other  property,  and 
when  they  learned  of  my  protest  against  the  guerrillas  they 
would  have  quenched  the  flames.  But  that  was  impossible. 
You  see  they  have  saved  a  large  part  of  my  furniture." 


THE    WRECK    OF    WAR.  285 

"The  Yankees  do  that?" 

"  Yes,  the  Union  troops,  aided  by  the  servants." 

"  Insult  you  !  " 

"  Not  at  all.  They  expressed  only  regret  at  the  necessity. 
They  have  been  everything  that  is  kind  and  courteous." 

When  the  building  fell  and  they  were  gazing  on  the  smol- 
dering ruins,  Erma  urged  Mrs.  Trenhom  to  accompany  and 
make  a  home  at  her  house. 

No.  Her  duty  lay  with  her  people.  She  would  live  in  the 
laro-e  cabin.     And  she  did. 

Then  Erma  inquired  if  any  of  the  servants  followed  the 
troops. 

"  Not  one." 

Why  should  they?  Mrs.  Trenhom  had  already  freed  every 
one  of  them.  She  did  this  the  day  she  came  into  possession 
of  her  property,  and  promised  work  and  wages  to  all  who  re- 
mained, and  they  all  remained. 

When  CoL  Trenhom  came  home  Major  Cartier  came  with 
him  to  Slimpton.  There  their  roads  parted.  The  summer  was 
devoted,  by  both  Trenhom  and  Cartier,  to  reorganizing  their 
plantations.  In  the  fall  Cartier  was  called  North  on  business. 
When  he  returned  one  of  the  first  things  he  said  was: 

"  Oh,  Erma,  I  saw  that  sergeant !  " 

"Alive  !  " 

"Alive!  Bless  you,  yes.  Did  you  think  T  was  hunting 
through  graveyards  ?  " 

"  How  glad  I  am.     I  thought  he  was  dead  !  " 

"  Dead  ;  I  was  sure  of  it.     I  never  was  so  startled." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  he  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I  spoke  to  him  for  hours  ;  visited  his  home,  and 
saw  his  wife." 

"  Pretty  ?  " 

You  see  how  women's  heads  will  jump  even  on  the  gravest 
occasions. 

"  Pretty  !  You  wouldn't  call  her  a  beauty.  She  is  fresh 
looking.  A  good,  honest,  motherly  little  body.  A  woman  to 
win  you  to  her  from  the  first  word,  and  the  bravest  little  soul 
in  the  world."     Then  a  thought  of  the  small -pox  horror  came 


236  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

to  him,  and  ho  added,  "  Except  you,  dear,  always  except 
you." 

"Thank  you  !" 

Then  Dale  Cartier  went  on  and  told  the  story  of  "  Puss 
Cat"  and  the  rescue  from  Andersonville.  Erma  was  an  eager 
auditor.  Hor  admiration  was  unbountled.  Her  exclamations 
a  multitude.  When  he  concluded  Erma  clapped  her  hands 
with  delight. 

"  What  a  noble,  brave  woman." 

"  It  was  brave,  dear.  But  no  bravery  ever  equalled 
yours  in  facing  that  dreadful  sick  room." 

Ernia  shivered.  "Poor  Dale!"  Then  she  added,  "Oh, 
now  I  would  like  to  see  that  woman,  Kitty  ?" 

"  You  may,  dear  !  " 

"  I  may  !     Oh,  how  ?     Will  you  take  me  there  ?  " 

"  Slie  may  possibly  come  here  !  " 

"Here?     To  us?     To  visit  us?" 

"  Will  it  please  you  ?  " 

'•  Oh,  Dale  !     How  can  you  ask  it  ?" 

"  They  may  come  for  more  than  tliat.     To  stay  !  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted." 

Then  Cartier  told  how  he  met  Halmer  Huntley  ;  that  lie 
was  yet  suffering  from  his  wound  and  imprisonment;  that  his 
wife  dreaded  the  rigor  of  a  Northern  winter;  how  he  had  sug- 
gested a  removal  to  Mississippi,  and  that  he  had  given  them 
assurance  of  a  cordial  welcome.  After  this  Dale  and  Erma 
agreed  they  would  visit  some  of  their  friends  on  the  morrow 
and  talk  the  matter  over  with  them.     The  result  was  a  letter: 


"Broad  Oaks  fncar  Slimpton),  Miss.  ) 
"October  14,  18G5  \ 


"  Dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huntley. — I  have  spoken  to  many  of  my 
friends  of  my  suggestion  to  you  and  of  your  fears  as  to  the  reception  a 
Northern  soldier  would  receive.  You  know  how  earnestly  I  assured  you 
those  fears  were  groundless.  My  friends  concur  with  me.  The  war  is 
over.  We  have  put  it  behind  us.  In  the  final  surrender  we  were  treated 
with  magnanimity.  We  did  hope  to  succeed.  We  failed,  and  the  un- 
expected kindness  of  the  victors  leaves  no  room  for  bitterness.  There  is 
none  here,  not  a  particle.  Northern  soldiers  can  come  and  do  here  as 
they  can  come  and  go  and  do  among  their  own  friends  in  the  North,  and 


THE    WRECK    OF    WAR.  237 

there  are,  as  you  know,  special  reasons  why  you  will  be  welcomed  with 
open  arms  by  myself  and  my  friends.  My  dear  friends  put  away  all 
doubts  and  come.  Come  at  all  events  and  visit  us,  and  if  our  soil  and 
our  climate  and  the  warm  hearts  of  our  people  do  not  wed  you  to  us 
then  set  me  down  as  no  prophet.  The  visit  you  more  than  half  prom- 
ised I  will  not  be  denied. 

"Your  ever  grateful  friend, 

"  Dale  CARTiiiu," 

To  this  was  added  a  postscript  : 

"  Dear  Mr!  Huntley,  you  must  not  say  no.  I  do  want  to  see  j'^ou.  I 
do  want  to  thank  you,  and  I  want  to  see  '  Kitty.'  Pardon  the  familiar- 
ity;  but  I  will  see  '  Kitty '  and  you  if  I  have  to  go  to  the  north  pole  to 
do  it,  and  when  you  come  you  must  make  our  house  your  home.  I  have 
been  out  among  my  friends,  and  j^ou  will  see  from  the  enclosure,  signed 
by  the  first  people  of  our  county,  how  gladly  you  will  be  welcomed  at 
Broad  Oaks  and  Slimptou.  Kiss  your  dear  wife  for  me,  and  come !  come ! 
come!  I  owe  3^ou  the  dearest  husband  in  the  world,  and  I  do  want  to 
say  how  grateful  I  am.     Again  I  repeat,  come!  come!  do  come! 

*'  Yours  affectionately  and  gratefully, 

'  •  Erma  Chartrass  Cartier." 

This  was  the  enclosure  : 

"  We  have  learned  from  Major  and  Mrs.  Dale  Cartier  of  the  gener- 
osity and  gallantry  of  Mr,  Halmer  Huntley,  a  federal  soldier,  and  we 
beg  to  assure  him  that  if  he  will  honor  Slimpton  by  a  visit  or  residence, 
he  will  be  received  and  welcomed  by  all  the  people  with  open  arms 
and  hearts. 

Signed,  "  Walter  Trexuom, 

"  Gersham  Valore, 
"  Mrs.  Gersham  Yalore, 
"  Oglethorpe  Shootfast, 
"Mrs.  Clarinda  Shootfast, 
"Preston  Bartdale." 

After  these  followed  some  twenty  other  names  of  lesser 
note.  When  Hal  Huntley  and  his  wife  received  the  letters, 
they  wondered  why  they  had  misjudged  the  South.  "  Noble 
people,  but  misguided.  All  right  now.  Slavery  was  the  bi'u- 
talizer;  that  gone,  they  are  kind  and  generous  and  humane, 
like  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world." 

The  last  doubt  was  removed,  and  gladly  they  turned  their 
faces  toward  the  South.  Erma  and  Dale  and  their  friends 
overflowed  with  kindness.     There  was  no  end  to  their  hospi- 


238  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

tality.  The  visitors  were  cliariiied  ;  the  charm  made  them 
res'.dents.  Before  sprinir  they  were  the  owners  of  a  small 
plantation  near  Slimptoii  and  settled  on  it.  Then  they  wrote 
to  Jupiter  and  Mansa,  and  in  less  than  a  month  they  came. 
Nothing  suited  Mansa  better,  and  they  bought  a  few  acres  on 
Peeky  Run,  a  mile  away  from  the  Ratley  cabin.  During  the 
following  autumn  there  was  to  be  a  change  in  the  Slimpton 
postoffice.  Jared  Sparling  wanted  the  place.  It  was  said  he 
was  sure  of.it.  Sparling  was  a  small  planter,  a  thing  half  way 
between  the  bottom  silt  and  the  crust,  and  during  the  war  a 
Union  man.  The  mention  of  Sparling's  name  for  the  post- 
office  was  fuel  under  the  pot.  It  began  to  boil  with  fervor. 
The  vapor  it  threw  off  was  like  this  :  "  Low  down  fellow. 
No  'count  critter.  Agin  his  friends  in  the  wah!  Insult  to  all 
of  us.  Ought  to  have  a  gentleman  there.  Rather  it  would  be 
a  Yankee  than  a  Southern  traitor.'  This  suggested  Huntley's 
name.  One  and  another  said,  "  The  government  can't  object 
to  him.  He  was  a  Union  soldier  and  a  good  fellow.  Wliy 
not  have  him  appointed?"  Huntley  was  approached.  "No, 
Wouldn't  take  it  under  any  circumstances."  But  these  peo- 
ple with  a  purpose  never  took  "no"  for  an  answer.  A  little 
"  no"  is  but  a  pebble  in  the  path  of  persistence  and  hate,  and 
they  hated  Sparling  heartily. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Judge  Shootfast,  "let  us  have  him  ap- 
pointed; then  we'll  compel  him  to  take  it."  The  Sparling 
haters  were  shrewd  and  potential  ;  they  secured  the  appoint- 
ment of  Hantley.  The  first  intimation  he  had  of  it  was  from 
an  editorial  in  the  "  Slimpton  Weekly  Buzzer." 

"  We  are 'glad,"  said  the  Buzzer,  "  to  stop  our  press  to  an- 
nounce to  the  people  that  Mr.  Halmer  Huntley  has  been  ap- 
pointed postmaster  at  Slimpton.  Many  of  our  readers  will 
recognize  in  Mr.  Huntley  the  gallant  federal  soldier  who  saved 
the  life  of  our  distinguished  fellow  citizen,  Major  Dale  Cartier, 
on  the  bloody  field  of  Chickamauga." 

When  Mrs.  Huntley  read  this,  she  begaix  to  tremble. 
"  Hal,"  she  said,  "you  will  not  accept  this?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"I  am  so  glad.     I  see  only  trouble,  trouble,  trouble,  in  it." 


THE    WRECK    OP    WAR.-  239 

But  if  Kate  talked,  so  did  the  men  of  persistence  ;  on  his 
plantition,  at  their  homes.  At  dinners  and  teas  to  which  he 
was  dragged  ;  talk,  talk!  buz,  buz  !  *'  Such  a  kindness  to  us 
all.  You  ought;  indeed,  you  ought.  You  intend  to  live  here. 
You  owe  somethino^  to  the  comm unity.  Personal  feelins:  must 
give  way  to  the  public  good."  This  was  from  Sh-ootfast,  Bart- 
dale  and  Valore,  while  their  wives  plied  Kate  with  even  greater 
volubility  ;  they  saw  that  even  if  she  wasn't  the  gray  mare  of 
the  team,  the  team  did  not  move  without  her.  Then  came 
Erma  and  Dale.  The  "Slimpton  Buzzer"  announced  the 
result  :  "  Reader,  we  congratulate  you.  We  congratulate 
everybody.  "We  are  happy.  We  are  in  the  seventh  heaven 
and  going  up.  At  the  earnest  solicitation  of  our  foremost 
citizens,  Mr.  Halmer  Huntley  has  consented  to  withdraw  his 
objections  and  accept  the  Slimpton  postoffice.  Victory  num- 
ber one,  hurrah  !  " 


240  Bin  ST  LING    WITU    TUOKNS. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

GATHERING    OF    THE    CLOUDS. 

A  storm  has  portents. 

Nods,  winks,  whisperincrs,  mysterious  gatherings  and  niur- 
murings  from  the  "  Buzzer"  were  the  presages  of  the  storm  that 
burst  over  Siimpton  in  the  early  summer  of  1875. 

There  had  been  troubled  elsewhere.  Immediately  follow- 
ing the  war  there  had  been  some  in  Siimpton.  But  it  was 
quietly  repressed.  The  negroes  outnumbered  the  whites  in 
the  county  four  to  one,  and  they  used  their  power  discreetly. 

When  suflfrage  was  conferred  on  the  blacks,  and  they  dis- 
covered they  could  control  the  selection  of  officers,  they  were 
jubilant.  They  had  a  meeting  in  Shiloh  church.  The  colored 
pastor  presided.  The  colored  people  were  there  in  crowds. 
They  came  from  the  remotest  points  in  the  county  and  camped 
in  the  woods.  No  consideration  of  personal  hardship  could 
restrain  them  from  that  jubilee 

It  was  "  kingdom  come."  Trumpets,  white  robes,  and 
heavens  opening. 

The  woods  were  melodious  with  their  songs  and  revereuit 
with  their  thankso:ivincr. 

The  meeting  opened  with  prayer.  All  negro  political 
meetings  do. 

The  first  thing  was  to  propose  negro  candidates. 

This  brought  Awk  Trenhom  to  his  feet,  "  Mr.  President." 

The  president  spoke  :  "  Bruur  Trenhom  hab  de  floah  ! 
Proceed  sah." 

Awk  proceeded.     He  was  opposed  to  nominating  negroes. 

"  What  dat?"  came  from  a  far  away  corner  of  the  church 
"  Doan  want  none  we  black  uns  in  de  avvfis  !  " 

Awk  turned  his  face  to  the  sound. 


GATHERIXG    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  241 

"  Dat's  what  I  say,  sah  !  we  uns  all  am  too  igrunt  fo'  dat." 

"  Mr.  Chee'man  I  " 

'^  Mistah  Chee'man  ! " 

''  Mistah  Presiden'  !  " 

Rap,  rap,  rap,  from  the  cane  of  the  president. 

"  Brudren,  we  mus  hab  ordah  !  " 

"  Dat's  it,  sah  !  dat's  it,  sah  !  I  rises  to  a  point  ob  ordah  !  " 

Awk  stood  facing  the  crowd,  bent   forward  on   his   cane. 

"  What  you  pint  ob  ordah?  You  'sumes  to  perrupt  a  ole 
man  I  ole  'nuff  to  be  you  gran'fadah.  Bruur,  I'ze  'shamed  fo' 
you  !  I  is  !  Yes,  sah,  I  is  dat.  T  pity  you,  sah,  I  does,  deed 
I  does  dat,  sah.  You  mus'  be  po'  cotton  fiel'  han',  sah.  De 
fuss  mannahs,  sah,  am  to  hab  'spect  fo'  de  ole  !  Membah  dat, 
sah.  I  lubs  you  brudah.  An'  I  pity  yo'  sah.  Po'  bruddah  ! 
Tain't  yore  fault  youze  rais'  n  de  cotton  fiel'.  But  look  heah,, 
good  brudah,  'spect  de  ole  !  'Spect  de  ole  !  Dat's  de  rail  de- 
mencement  ob  larnin'.  Begin  right,  good  brudah.  Den  dey's 
a  right  smawt  chance  fo'  you  to  gwan  to  de  perflection  ob 
larnin' !  " 

The  mouth  in  the  corner  was  plugged.  Its  owner  slunk 
away  out  of  sight. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  president  asked  x\wk  what 
he  proposed. 

Awk  soon  told  it.  He  advised  they  should  select  all  the 
principal  officers  from  among  the  whites,  not  because  they 
were  whites,  but  because,  unfortunately,  all  the  learning  was 
among  the  whites.  Some  of  the  minor  offices  could  be  given 
to  the  most  intelligent  and  trustworthy  among  the  blacks  ; 
the  more  important  places  to  whites. 

The  older  negroes  who  controlled  the  caucus  assented. 

The  younger  ones  grumbled  and  acquiesced. 

The  rock  of  stumbling  was,  who  should  be  the  white  men. 

Awk  suggested,  "  Dah's  my  young  mawstah." 

"  Mawstah  !     Mawstah  !  "  exclaimed  some. 

"  Hea'um  !     Hea'um  !  "  exclaimed  others  excitedly, 

"  Law  !  " 

"  Mawstah  !  " 

"Heaben!" 
16 


:i4:2  BRISTLING    WITH    TUORXS. 

''  Mawstah  !  " 

"  Yaas,  brudren.     I  said  dat — '  Maws — tab  ! '  " 

The  voice  of  a  stout  young  colored  man  rose  above  the 
din.  "I  rise  to  a  pint  ob  ordah  !  Dey  ain't  no  mo'  maws- 
tahs." 

Awk  listened  calmly  to  the  pattering  of  words.  When 
they  had  done  he  raised  his  voice,  "  Brudren,  ef  you  had  bettah 
mawstahs  moas  ob  you  would  be  bettah  mans  !  " 

'*  Oh  !     Oh  !     Oh  !  " 

"I  say  dat  !  Ob  couse  you  po'  bruddahs  dat  had  po'  no 
count  white  trash  fo'  mawstahs  am  pow'ful  glad  to  kick  'em 
off.     Jess  like  mules  wid  shakley  ridahs." 

"  Ha  !     Hah  !  " 

"  Hi  !     Hi !     Ki  !  " 

"  Dat's  so  !  " 

"  I  knows  youze  'shamed  o'  your  mawstahs,  ob  couse  you 
is.  You  couldn't  help  dat,  an'  I'ze  'shamed  fo'  you  too.  But 
bruden,  Mawst  Walt  an'  Miss  Lou  ain't  none  ob  dat  kind, 
dey  ain't. 

"  Dat's  so  !     Dat's  so  !  " 

"  No,  bruden,  dey  no  low  downs." 

"  Ki  !     Dat's  true,  sho  !     Dat's  -true  !  " 

"  Dey  made  all  we  slabes  free.  Ebry  one,  sahs,  free  ! 
Yo'  lieah  dat.  Fo'  de  'mancipation,  we  didn't  hab  to  wait  fo' 
no  reclamation  to  get  free.  No,  bruden.  Yo'  heali  dat !  De 
Lawd  put  it  in  de  hawt  ob  good  Miss  Lou;  blest  Miss  Lou, 
dat  she  am  ;  an'  Mawst  Walt  ketch  de  fiah,  an'  dey  made  we 
free.     Bress  de  Lawd !     Does  yo'  heah  what  I  tole  yo'  !  " 

^'Hallelujah!" 

''  Glory  to  God  !  " 

"  Three  cheers  for  Col.  Trenhom  ?" 

Clieers  followed. 

Awk  straightened  his  bent  form.  Tears  were  rolling 
down  his  wrinkled  cheeks.  In  a  voice  tremulous  with  emo- 
tion, he  spoke  : 

"  Bruden  !  bruden  !  Three  cheers  fo'  bless'd  Miss  Lou 
and  dear  Mawst  Walt  !  " 

And  the  cheers  were  given  with  hearty  good  will. 


GATHERIXG    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  24:3 

The  speech  settled  the  question. 

A  committee  was  appointed  to  wait  on  Col.  Trenhom.  Awk 
was  at  its  head.  They  urged  him  to  accept  the  office  of  pro- 
bate judge.  Trenhom  hesitated.  His  wife  urged  him  to 
accept.     It  would  do  much  to  start  fair  on  the  new  road. 

Cartier^  Valore,  Bartdale  and  Shootfast  sat  in  council  on 
the  question  ;  the  result  was  this  :  The  negroes  were  in  the 
majority;  they  could  elect  whom  they  pleased.  It  is  better 
for  us  all  to  have  an  honest  gentleman  like  Trenhom  in  the 
important  office  of  probate  judge,  than  an  ignorant  negro.  We 
will  advise  him  to  accept. 

They  did  advise  him. 

Trenhom  accepted  and  was  elected.  No  question  of  poli- 
tics was  raised  ;  the  negroes  never  asked,  and  the  Southerners 
never  doubted.  Was  not  Trenhom  a  Confederate  Colonel? 
What  further  guarantee  did  they  desire?  There  were  no 
questions  on  either  side. 

It  was  a  fortunate  choosing,  and  under  the  advice  of  Awk 
and  other  influential  colored' people,  this  policy  of  selection  as 
to  all  other  county  offices  was  continued. 

There  was  but  one  exception  to  it.  Jupiter  Saltire  had  been 
elected  sheriff,  and  afterwards  sent  to  the  Legislature. 

Elsewhere  in  the  State  was  unending  wrestling  and  cudgel- 
ling; a  prolonged  tooth  and  nail  shindy.  At  Slimpton  the 
atmosphere  was  tranquil  ;  that  was  the  fruit  of  Awk  Tren- 
hom's  tactics. 

And  Slimpton  reaped  its  benefits. 

Laborers  flecked  from  the  disturbed  sections  to  the  peace- 
ful quarters. 

Settlers  came  in  from  the  North. 

A  dam  was  thrown  across  Peeky  Run  ;  turbine  wheels 
lashed  its  waters  into  foam  and  filled  the  air  with  the  whir  of 
spindles  from  the  Yankee-built  cotton  mill  that  grew  up  on 
its  banks. 

Population  swelled. 

Land  increased  in  value. 

The  laws  were  enforced. 

Property  was  respected. 


244  BRISTLING   WITH   THORNS. 

Life  was  secure. 

Comfort  and  happiness  expelled  squalor  and  misery  from 
a  multitude  of  homes 

Prosperity  is  a  bantling  of  peace. 

Slimpton  was  prosperous. 

Then  came  the  portents. 

After  Col.  Trenhom  had  been  in  office  a  year,  his  neigh- 
bors discovered  he  was  voting  the  Republican  ticket.  They 
raised  their  eye-brows,  turned  up  their  noses,  and  gabbled. 
Then  they  learned  he  had  voted  that  ticket  at  every  election 
since  the  war. 

The  irreconcilables  were  shocked. 

"  Trenhom,  a  Confederate  Colonel,  vote  with  the  rads  ! 
What's  the  world  comin'  to  ?  " 

A  few  super-virulents  in  petticoats  refused  to  be  appeased. 
They  drew  their  puny  heads  into  their  turtle-shells,  and  never 
recognized  Trenhom  or  his  wife  after. 

Cartier  was  loyal  to  his  old  colonel,  and  Barkdale,  Valorc 
and  Shootfast,  after  many  weeks  of  sackcloth,  ashes  and  mum- 
bling, concluded  "the  State  and  county  is  Republican  any- 
how. Trenhom  is  of  good  family  ;  a  gallant  soldier;  a  true 
Confederate,  and  he  is  but  one  vote.  One  vote  more  or  less 
makes  no  difference."  And  with  wry  faces  they  agreed  to 
swallow  the  colonel,  coated  though  he  was  with  "  the  bitter- 
ness and  nastiness  of  radicalism." 

That  was  before  the  storm  and  its  warnings. 

The  first  murmuring  came  from  the  Slimpton   Buzzer. 

This  was  the  muttering  : 

"  Our  sister  States  have  kicked  off  the  nigger  riders.  It 
can  be  done  in  Mississippi,  and  it  must  be  done.  Don't  talk 
about  majorities.  Work  and  redeem  the  State.  Work,  be 
firm  and  wise  ;  this  time  there  is  to  be  no  fail.  Remember 
that.     'Up,  guards,  and  at 'em.'" 

Three  days  afterward.  Gen.  Pontoon  arrived  from  Jackson. 
During  the  day  he  was  in  close  converse  with  Valore,  Cartier, 
Shootfast,  Bartdale  and  others. 

The  air  was  full  of  rumors. 

"  Pontoon  !     What  is  he  here  for?" 


GATHERING    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  245 

''  Goin'  to  be  fun,  sho'  as  you  bavvn  !  " 

That  night  there  was  a  secret  meeting.  Windows  blinded, 
doors  closed  and  guarded. 

Gen.  Pontoon  was  a  hammer. 

The  meeting  was  glowing  iron  under  his  blows. 

There  was  no  dissent. 

White  men  ought  to  rule  the  State. 

"  But,  General,  how  can  it  be  done?  We  are  in  a  minor- 
ity. The  Republicans  outnumber  us  four  to  one  in  this  county, 
and  nearly  two  to  one  in  the  State  ;  their  majority  is  vast." 
Such  was  Col.  Valore's  query  and  suggestion. 

Pontoon  stood,  a  big,  ruddy  man  with  puffy  cheeks,  coarse, 
protruding  lips,  small,  steel-gray  eyes,  and  blotched  nose.  He 
stroked  his  fat  chin.    A  cunning  smile  broadened  his  thick  lips. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,  I  have  looked  for  this  question.  Yes> 
sahs,  I  have  expected  it  and  I  am  prepaw'd  for  it, 
sahs.  Yes,  gentlemen,  prepaw'd  for  it.  I  have  come  up 
heah.  Yes,  gentlemen,  up  heah  to  this  beautiful  county,  the 
pride  of  Mississippi.  Yes,  sahs,  the  pride  of  the  State,  sahs, 
with  the  noblest,  the  most  patriotic  gentlemen  and  the  most 
beautiful  women,  sahs.  It  is  a  pleasure  and  a  great  honah, 
sahs.  And  I  have  come  prepaw'd.  There  must  not  be  any 
Radical  majority." 

"  But,"  said  Col.  Yalore,  "if  their  voters  outnumber  ours, 
there  will  be  a  majority." 

Pontoon  stood  up  again.  "  Ah,  gentlemen,  I  am  prepaw'd 
for  that  too.  There  must  not  be  any  Radical  majority.  No, 
sahs,  no  majority." 

"  But  how  will  it  be  prevented." 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  expected  that  question.  Yes,  gentle- 
men, 1  came  prepaw'd  for  it.  It  must  be  prevented.  Yes, 
sahs,  that's  the  way  to  stop  it.     Prevent  it,  sahs  !  " 

"  How  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Prevent  it  !  My  valiant  friend  you  surprise  me.  Yes, 
sahs,  I  am  amazed  !  Profoundly  amazed.  Don't  let  them 
have  a  majority.  That's  the  way  to  prevent  it.  That's  the 
way,  my  dear  colonel.  That's  the  way,  gentlemen.  You  see 
I  have  come  prepaw'd  for  all  questions." 


246  BRISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

"  But,  general,  have  you  any  suggestions  to  make  as  to 
specific  nietliods  ?  " 

Tlie  general  stood  up  again.  "Ah!  hum!  There  are  a 
great  many  people  here,  gentlemen." 

"  But  all  true.  I  vouch  for  every  man  of  them,"  inter- 
jected Judge  Shootfast. 

"  Yes.  Certainly,  my  esteemed  friend  !  Certainly.  Quite 
a  number  !  Quite  a  crowd  !  Perhaps  you  had  better  appoint 
a  committee.  You  see,  gentlemen,  1  have  come  here  pre- 
paw'd  ;  quite  prepaw'd  for  that  too." 

"  How  large  a  committee  ?  " 

"Hum!  Hum!  Yes!  Committee.  Say  three  !  Yes, 
three  will  do.     Quite  prepaw'd  for  that.     Say  three." 

Cartier  moved  that  Shootfast,  Valore  and  Bartdale  should 
be  the  committee.  Pontoon  was  uneasy.  He  stroked  his  fat 
chin  and  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"Hum!  Perhaps  my  distinguished  friends  are — are — . 
Hum!  Well,  gentlemen — you  see — my  distinguished  and 
valiant  friends  may  not  have — time." 

"  Nothing  to  prevent,  nothing  to  hinder,"  interrupted  Bart- 
dale. '*  Nothing  to  prevent  us  serving  the  State,  no,  sir  ; 
nothing,  nothing  !  "  added  Shootfast. 

"  Hum  !  I  am  not  quite  prepaw'd — not  quite  prepaw'd  for 
that  committee." 

Then  the  cunnins^  liorht  came  back  into  Pontoon's  eves. 

"  My  distinguished  friends  will  agree  with  me.  Yes,  gen 
tlemen,  I  know  they  will.  I  am  prepaw'd  for  tliat.  I  am  pre- 
paw'd to  have  them  agree  with  me.  The  State  has  other 
service  for  my  learned  and  valiant  friends.  Yes,  gentlemen,  I 
am  prepaw'd  to  assert  that.  I  do  it  with  confidence,  gentle- 
men. Other  important  duties;  you  agree  with  me,  do  you  not, 
Colonel  Valore  "?  " 

Colonel  Valore  nodded  "  certainly." 

"  Ah  !    I  knew  you  would  !     I  was  prepaw'd  for  that." 

A  voice  in  the  rear  of  the  room  interrupted  Pontoon. 

"General,  how  shall  we  appoint  the  committee  ?" 

"Hum!  Yes!  I  am  prepaw'd  for  that.  Make  out  a  list. 
Yes,  sahs,  a  list  of  all  the  gentlemen  present.     All — remem- 


GATHERING    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  247 

ber  all — gentlemen,   and  their  positions  in  the   Confederate 
army — and — pursuit  before  the  waw." 

The  list  was  made  out  and  handed  to  Pontoon.  He  drew 
out  his  pencil  and  erased  all  but  three  names  near  the  bottom 
of  the  list.  Then  he  delivered  the  list  to  the  secretary,  who 
read: 

POSITION   IN  COXFEDEEATE  OCCUPATION   BEFOKE 

ARMY.  NAME.  WAR. 

Captain Hiram  Pelter Slave  Driver. 

Captain Ezekiel  Savage. . .    Slave  Trader. 

Lieutenant Sam.  Boosy Saloon  Keeper 

The  gentlemen  present  looked  in  each  other's  faces. 

A  mysterious  light  flamed  up  in  many  eyes.  And  Pontoon 
complacently  stroked  his  fat  chops,  while  the  meeting  con- 
firmed his  selections. 

Hi  Pelter  stood  up.  "General,  when  can  the  committee 
see  you  ?" 

"  Me  !  Hum  !  I  am  not  quite  prepaw'd  for  that  !  Hum 
— a — yes  !     A  distinguished  patriot  will  call  on  you." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  "  asked  Pelter. 

"  Name  !  Not  quite  prepaw'd.  No.  You  will  know  him, 
gentlemen  of  the  committee.  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  will  know 
him  when  he  comes.  A  distinguished  patriot  I  assure  you, 
gentlemen.     You  will  know  him." 

Then  the  meeting  broke  up. 

As  they  glided  stealthily  out  in  the  dark  Judge  Shootfast 
whispered  to  Bartdale,  "  This  means  busines-.  I  can  see  that. 
Sure  !     Sure  !  " 

It  did  mean  business. 

The  next  week's  Buzzer  was  seething.  "  Thank  God  the 
hour  of  deliverance  is  nearer  than  we  hoped.  It  is  almost 
here.  Throw  up  your  hats.  Shout.  Get  drunk.  'Tis  the 
year  of  jubilee.  In  future  none  but  white  men  of  unques- 
tioned fidelity  to  our  social  and  'political  faith*  will  be  per- 
mitted to  hold  office  under  any  circumstances.  None !  " 
"  Mark  it !  Mark  what  we  tell  you.  We  are  going  to  shake 
off  the  crazy  God-and-morality-negro- worshipping,  black-and- 

*razoo  Herald. 


248  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

white-blood-mixiiig,  women  crowing,  babN'^-strangling, c-e-o-w- 
pronouncing  New  England-Yankee-clock-peddling,  chicken- 
stealing,  box-ankled,  bandy-shanked,  round-shoulderec',  cant- 
ing, psalm-singing,  cowardly,  cut-throat,  vulgar,  slimy- 
mouthed,  onion  eating,  sausage-stuffing  scoundrels  from  the 
North."*  We  are  going  to  drive  them  out  of  the  Post-office. 
Chalk  that  down,  Yankee  Postmaster,  and  out  of  every  office. 
Make  a  big  score  there  all  of  you.  Keep  your  eye  on  every 
Yank.  Some  are  State  and  some  are  federal  spies.  All  are 
thieves,"  f  and  "  when  these  boot-licks  of  tyranny  sneak  back 
North,  carpet-bag  in  hand,  we  ask  them  to  think  of  us  as  a 
people. 

"  What  hates  the  Cotton  Mather  and  the  Roger  Williams  stock, 
That  dirty  pile  of  hell's  manure  first  dumped  on  Plymouth  rock.":^ 

Kate  Huntley  saw  the  article  and  was  amazed.  Not  an 
hour  before  the  editor  of  the  Buzzer  was  in  the  post-office,  all 
smiles  and  affability.  Kate  w^s  its  postmistress.  Her  hus- 
band's Chickamauga  wound  incapacitated  him  for  business. 
He  insisted  on  resigning.  Dalton  Craft,  of  the  Buzzer,  was 
among  the  most  zealous  advocates  of  Mrs.  Huntley  to  succeed 
her  husband.  The  Huntleys'  plantation  experience  had  not 
been  a  success,  and  Mrs.  Huntley  could  do  the  post-office  work. 
The  salary  was  needed  ;  that,  with  her  husband's  pension, 
which  he  could  not  draw.while  he  was  postmaster,  placed  them 
in  comfortable  circumstances.  And  now,  to  be  assailed  almost 
by  name,  and  in  such  vile  terms,  it  shocked  Kate. 

A  little  time  after  she  read  the  article  the  Buzzer  man 
came  in  again.  Kate  looked  at  him  out  of  her  troubled  eyes. 
The  same  old  smile  was  on  the  man's  face.  He  was  appar- 
ently unchanged.  As  he  opened  his  mail  drawer  he  spoke 
to  hor. 

"Ah  !  How  de,  Mrs.  Huntley?" 

The  man's  pleasant  tones  surprised  her.  He  was  goading 
her.  Slashing  her  with  thorns,  and  yet  he  stood  there  before 
her  with  a  smile  on  his  lips.     She  spoke  to  him. 

*Iuka  (Miss.)  Gazette.  tPanola  (Miss.)  Star. 

t  Brandon  (Miss.;  Kcpublican. 


GATHERING    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  249 

"  Mr.  Craft,  I  have  been  reading  this  week's  Buzzer." 

•"  Ah  !  Quite  a  good  number  !  Going  off  like  hot 
cakes." 

"  One  article  in  it  pains  me  very  much." 

"  YoQ  mean  the  leader." 

"  The  first  article.     Perhaps  you  call  it  that." 

Craft  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Sharp  and  strong,  isn't  it?  I've 
received  a  heap  of  congratulations  on  that." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it." 

^'  My  dear  Mrs.  Huntley  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  surprised  to  hear  that  any  of  our  people  endorse 
such  sentiments." 

"  Dear  madam,  these  are  the  sentiments  of  all  our  people." 

"  Oh,  no  I  " 

"  Indeed,  yes  !  " 

"  And  you  all  despise  and  hate  me  thus  !  " 

"  You  !  You,  dear  Mrs.  Huntley  !  You,  as  an  individual, 
no.  As  an  individual — as  Mrs.  Huntley,  we  all  admire  and 
esteem  you,  and  personally  would  do  anything  for  you.  It  is 
the  Yankee  postmistress  that  we  hate." 

"  Did  you  not  urge  me  to  take  the  place  ?  " 

"  I  did,  indeed  ;  so  did  all  our  prominent  people  ;  and  so 
they  also  urged  it  upon  your  husband." 

"  Have  I  not  been  honest  in  office  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  ever  doubted  it." 

"  Have  I  not  been  oblio^ino;  ?  " 

"  You  have,  indeed." 

"  And  courteous  to  everyone  ?" 

"You  could  not  be  otherwise." 

"  Have  not  my  husband  and  myself  secured  you  more  mails 
and  prompter  delivery  than  you  ever  had  before  ?  " 

"  I'll  testify  to  that  everywhere.  The  post-office  never  was 
managed  so  well." 

"  And  yet  you  wish  me  to  go  out  of  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear  madam;  it  is  against  the  policy  of  the  State  to 
permit  Northern  people  to  hold  office." 

"  If  that  is  so,  why  did  you  solicit  me  to  take  it  ?  " 

"We   were   not  quite  prepared  to  assert  our  rights  then, 


250  BRISTLING   WITH    THORNS 

and  it  was  either  you,  a  Yankee,  or  a  scallawag,  and  we  pre- 
ferred the  Yankee.     We  would  do  the  same  again." 

"  Oh  !  Indeed  !  Then  I  and  m}^  husband  were  mere  tools 
of  your  spleen.  Clubs  to  hit  some  Southern  man  who  had 
buried  his  war  passions  and  given  his  support  to  the  govern- 
ment." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  you  put  it  harshly.  Indeed  you  do." 
And  Craft  walked  away,  whistling  "  Dixie." 

Only  the  day  before  this  interview  at  the  post-office,  a 
stranger  glided  up  the  stairs  to  tlie  Buzzer  office,  and  after 
entering,  carefully  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Before  him  he  saw  a  man  at  a  desk  writing.  The 
stranger's  entrance  had  been  noiseless.  He  was  unnoticed 
until  he  spoke. 

"  Mr.   Craft  ?  " 

Craft  looked  up,  surprised  and  startled.  Seeing  the 
stranger,  he  answered  *'  Yes." 

"  PJditor  of  the  Buzzer  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Whom  have  I  the  honah  of  addressing  ?  " 

The  stranger  hurriedly  scrutinized  the  room,  then  he  whis- 
pered : 

*'You  may  call  me  1900." 

"  1900  !  " 

"  S-s-c-c-h-h  !     Yes!     1900." 

Craft  looked  the  man  over.  He  was  tall  and  slim.  Bones 
in  breeches.  A  slouched  hat  covered  his  short  gray  hair.  A 
pair  of  huge  ears  curled  down  under  the  rim  of  the  hat.  A 
great  curved  nose  made  a  narrow  bridge  between  eyes  hidden 
away  under  shaggy,  overhanging  eyebrows.  A  strongly  pro- 
truding chin  and  thin  lips,  marking  a  moutli  square  across  the 
jaw  and  set  like  a  vise.  It  was  a  slit  in  brown  paichment. 
This  was  the  man. 

Craft  laid  down  his  pen.  "1900"  drew  a  chair  close  be- 
side him  and  sat  down. 

"  I'm  here  on  business.  Partly  with  you.  1900  is  enough 
of  a  name.  You  were  at  a  conference  the  other  night.  Pon- 
toon was  there." 

Craft  nodded. 


GATHERIXG    OF    THE    CLOUDS.  251 

"  That's  all  right.  I  know  you  very  well  from  description, 
and  I  am  here  on  that  business." 

"  I  am  not  of  the  committee." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that.     Quite  aware  of  that." 

"  Have  you  seen  any  of  the  committee  ?  " 

"  No,  not  yet." 

"  Shall  I  show  them  to  you  ?  " 

"  Quite  unnecessary.  I  can  pick  them  out  in  a  crowd. 
My  first  business  is  with  you." 

'I  am  honored.     What  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Much,  sah,  much.  Every  great  cause  needs  a  John  the 
Baptist." 

"  And  I—" 

"  You  can  prepare  the  way." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Make  it  red  hot  for  the  Yanks  and  scallawags.  Make  the 
Buzzer  a  furnace  to  consume  their  reputations.  Make  it  a 
volcano  to  bury  them  under  its  lava.     You  can  do  that  ?  " 

"  T  think  so." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Our  committee  have  watched  your 
course  and  are  aware  of  your  abilities." 

Craft  bowed. 

"  Charge  them  boldly  with  every  conceivable  wrong  and 
malignant  purpose.  Make  them  odious^odious.  Fire  the 
hearts  of  the  people  against  them.  Fire  their  hearts.  There 
is  nothing  easier." 

"  That  is  undoubtedly  true." 

"After  a  time,  when  the  people  are  prepared  for  it — you 
will  hear  rumors.  Wc  will  arrange  that.  We  will  start  them 
for  you.  Charge  them  and  the  negroes  with  arming  and  con- 
niving. Cliarge  tlie  niggahs,  Yanks  and  scallawags  with  in- 
cendiary and  murderous  purposes.  A  part  of  the  people  can 
be  swayed  by  their  hates.  Another  part  by  their  fears.  Be- 
tween the  two  we  will  have  a  solid  people  with  a  pretext  and 
apology  for  the  measures  that  will  be  necessary  to  drive  the 
Yankees  and  scallawags  from  power  and  subdue  the  niggahs." 

"  I  see  !     I  see  !  " 

"We  shall  rely  on  your  efficient  aid." 


252  BKISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  Mississippi  and  the  South  can  rely  on  me  to  the  death." 

"  Your  country  wi\l  be  grateful." 

"My  dear  1000,  watch  the  Buzzer.  From  this  on  it  shall 
be  a  brazier  for  grillinpr  Yankees,  niggahs  and  scallavvags.  If 
my  section  needs  that,  it  shall  have  it.  For  my  country  the 
Buzzer  shall  be  made  a  bed  of  molten  lava  for  them  all." 

With  a  profane  and  burning  clincher  of  asseveratioii  froni 
Craft  the  conspirators  parted. 


THE  1900.  353 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    1900. 

Late  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Hiram  Pelter,  ex- 
slave  driver  and  ex-captain  of  the  Confederate  army,  was  on 
his  way  home.  In  the  shadow  of  the  trees  a  man  stood  beside 
him. 

"Captain  Pelter?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"One  of  the  committee  appointed  the  other  night  ?" 

"Yes,  who  be  you?" 

"  1900  !  " 

"1900?" 

"  Yes,  1900.     I  am  the  man." 

"  That  was  to  come  to  us?" 

"Yes.  Where  can  we  be  perfectly  secure  from  prying 
ears?" 

"  Come  this  way."     And  Pelter  led  him  into  safe  shelter. 

"  Secure  here?  " 

"Wait  here  an'  I'll  get  the  others." 

"  Savage  and  Boozy?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  No.     That  won't  do.     Two  is  enough  to  any  conference. 

"  But  they  are  on  the  committee." 

"I  know.     I'll  see  them." 

"  Why  not  altogether?  " 

"One  at  a  time;  one  at  a  time,  my  friend.  Three's  wit- 
nesses.    Two  is  only  assertion  and  denial." 

"  And  you  distrust — " 

"  No,  sir,  not  at  all.  Not  by  any  means.  I  have  a  work 
to  do,  and  I  propose  to  do  it,  and  do  it  securely  for  the  good 
of  the  cause — for  the  country's  sake." 


254  BRISTLING    WITH   THORNS. 

"  T  see." 

"Will  you  listen?" 

"Sahtiii." 

"You  are  well  acquainted  in  the  county  ?" 

"  Yes.     Know  everybody." 

"All  prominent  niggahs  and  Yankees?" 

"  Every  one  of  them." 

"  And  the  low  downs?" 

"  Know  them  all." 

"Are  they  well  affected  toward  the  niggahs?  " 

"  Friendly,  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes,  kindly  disposed  to  them." 

"  Well,  they're  peaceable  like,  but  powahful  jealous." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  see  the  niggahs  are  gittin'  ahead  a  sight  of  'em. 
Gittin'  on  right  peert.  Gittin'  money  and  lands  and  com- 
futable  like  for  niggahs." 

"  As  they  are  doing  generally  through  the  State." 

"  An'  the  low  downs  mostly  stick  in  the  same  old  rut." 

"Where  they  were  before  the  wah?" 

"Yes,  and  tliat  makes  them  powahful  jealous  like.'* 

"Would  like  to  take  the  niggahs  down  a  peg?" 

"  Indeed  they  would,  shoa  !  They're  mad  to  see  the  nig- 
gahs gittin'  on  when  they  ain't." 

"  x\nd  they  could  be  stirred  up  against  the  niggahs?" 

"  You  bet  !     A  chip  would  stir  and  set  them  whirling." 

"  What  about  the  Yankees  ?  " 

"  They're  worse.  Hate  'em  worse.  They  go  round  puttin' 
on  so  many  airs  witli  their  schools  and  cliurches  and  fine  clothes 
and  fancy  plantin'." 

"Exactly.     Can't  hide  their  success." 

"  Don't  try,  drat  'em.  Don't  try.  Always  grubbin'  an' 
diffjrin'  like  nii^o-ahs,  an'  rubbin'  their  success  under  better 
people's  noses." 

"  They  are  not  smart." 

"  Smart !  Who  ever  saw  a  Yank  peert  at  anythin'  except 
makin'  money.  Ef  they'd  only  cover  their  success  up.  Ef  it 
didn't  stick  out  so." 


THE  1900.  255 

"  Precisely.     And  this  angers  the  low  downs  ?" 

"  Angers  all  of  us.     One  don't  like  it  more  than  another." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  You  see  a  fellow  don't  like  to  be  in  the  suds  an'  see  an- 
other floppin'  like  pooty  white  linen  in  the  sun." 

"  Of  course  not." 

He  did  not  suggest  that  the  path  out  of  the  suds  was  the 
same  for  all  ;  that  was  not  his  purpose.  He  came  to  bedrag- 
gle the  clean,  white  linen,  not  to  purify  and  rinse  out  the  soiled. 
Then  he  added,  "They  can,  of  course,  be  united  against  the 
Yankees  and  nio-o-ahs." 

"  For  that  matter,  they  are  united  now.  It's  the  doing  is 
the  question." 

"  Can  they  not  be  united  to  act  against  them  ?  " 

"  To  cuss  and  mouth  at  them  ;  oh,  yes  !  They  do  that 
now." 

"  But  to  use  compulsion,  force,  violence  ?  " 

''That  depends!" 

"  On  what  ?  " 

"On  the  leading  men — the  kites.  You  see  the  low  downs 
are  only  kite  tails  now,  as  they  were  before  the  wah." 

"  But  they  can  not  expect  men  like  Judge  Shootfast  and 
Col.  Valore  to  participate  in  any  scenes  of  violence." 

"  No  !  Not  that  'zacly.  But  they  mustn't  be  fornenst  it  ; 
they  must  stand  by  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right." 

"  When  we  satisfy  the  '  sand-hillers '  that  such  men  like 
the  work,  or  wink  at  it,  and  that  they  will  stand  between  them 
and  hawm,  we  can  get  them  to  whip  or  hang  every  niggah  and 
Yank  in  the  county." 

"  Very  good.  That's  as  I  expected.  I  give  you  that 
assurance.  You  may  rely  on  it.  You  shall  have  the  amplest 
proof  of  it." 

"  All  right  so  far.  But  they  mustn't  give  encouragement 
to  leading  Yanks  and  scallawag-s." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  They  mustn't  visit  'em  or  have  anything,  in  a  social  way, 
to  do  with  them." 


256  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  That  will  be  attended  to.     You  may  build  upon  that.'' 

"  Very  good,  then;  the  rest  is  easy  canoeing.  You  have 
plans  ? " 

"  Yes,  uniform  throughout  the  State." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  us  to  do  ?  " 

"You  will  organize  companies." 

"  How  many?" 

"  That  will  be  left  to  your  own  discretion.  I  would  suggest 
not  less  than  three,  one  for  each  of  the  committee.  More  if  you 
think  best  afterward." 

"  And  we  shall  command  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  counsel  too-ether  as  to  methods  of  attack  and 
obnoxious  men.      They  then  should  act  in  concert." 

"I  see." 

"  You  should  obtain  full  information  as  to  all  prominent 
and  officious  Republican  niggahs  and  Yanks." 

''  And  then  ?  " 

"  Make  it  hot  for  them.     Make  it  hot  for  them." 

"Whipping?" 

"That  at  first." 

"  And  after  ?  " 

The  man  placed  his  thin  lips  against  Hiram  Pelter's  ear 
and  whispered,  "Kill!  Kill!  Kill!"  It  was  the  hiss  of  a 
serpent.     But  Pelter  heard  it  immovable. 

Reptiles  are  not  startled  by  reptile  hissing. 

"  If  they  appeal  to  the  law  ?" 

"  There  will  be  no  law  for  them.  If  you  make  the  judges 
and  you  and  your  friends  are  the  jurors,  you    are   the   law." 

Pelter  rubbed  his  hands  with  delight.  The  plot  was  pene- 
trating his  skull. 

"  And  the  pretexts." 

"  If  not  ready  made,  make  them." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  Rumors  !     Rumors  !  " 

"Of  what?" 

"You  and  your  companies  whisper  it,  then  talk  it  openly. 
Niggahs  are  stealing.  Niggahs  and  Yanks  conspiring.  Gath- 
ering secretly.     Arming.     Discover  a  plot;  a  host  of  plots  to 


THE  1900.  257 

kill  and  burn  and  outrage.  Spread  it  about.  Get  it  on  every 
tongue  ;  the  more  it  is  talked  the  more  it  will  be  believed. 
Force  the  thought  into  the  minds  of  the  timid.  Iteration  of 
words  is  water-drops  on  stone.  It  will  wear  into  minds.  Peo- 
ple who  repeat  will  speedily  come  to  assurance.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  accuse  and  accuse.  Whisper  it  in  confidence  to  A 
and  to  B.  In  confidence,  mind  you.  Not  to  be  repeated. 
You  heard  the  niggahs  say  this  and  you  heard  them  say  that. 
And  you  saw  the  Yanks  bearing  arms  to  them  here  and  there. 
Shudder  and  moan.  Declare  you  are  going  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, can't  stand  it,  afraid  of  your  life.  You  and  your  com- 
mand keep  at  it — a  few  days,  a  few  weeks,  and  the  work  is 
done.  There  will  be  a  multitude  to  swear  they  saw  and  heard 
all  of  it." 

"Ah! "     Pelter's  eyes  glistened  in  the  dark. 

"Yes!  Call  a  poor  worm  a  serpent  and  the  many  will 
swear  it  is  so  and  go  out  of  their  way  to  club  it." 

"I  see!  I  see!  I  see!"  whispered  Pelter,  in  ecstasy. 

"  But  suppose,  after  all,  they  insist  on  coming  to  the  polls 
and  votino;!  " 

"  Announce  in  advance  that  you  will  regard  any  collection 
of  negroes  as  a  threat.  Then,  if  they  are  too  numerous  to  be 
driven  from  the  polls,  you  must  out-count  them." 

"Stuff  the  ballot  boxes?" 

"  Certainly.  Take  possession  of  the  polls.  If  we  can  not 
vote  the  negro  down  we  can  knock  him  down,  and  the  result 
will  be  the  same."* 

"  But  if  he  gets  in  most  votes  and  the  registrar  insists  on 
counting  them?" 

"No  difference  how  bold  the  fraud  or  how  manifest  it  may 
be,  hang  the  registrar.f  Fill  your  ballot  boxes,  and  see  that 
they  are  counted,  and  hang  the  registrar  that  proposes  to 
throw  out  a  Democratic  vote. "J 

"Isn't  that  a  little  revolutionary?" 

"Yes,  undoubtedly.  The  present  contest  is  rather  a  revo- 
lution than  a  political  campaign;  it  is  the  rebellion,  if  you  see 

♦Article  in  Westville  (Miss.)  Xews.  t  Jackson  Clarion. 

t  Jackson  Clarion. 

17 


358  BRISTLING    AVITH    THORNS. 

fit  to  apply  that  term,*  and  no  true  man  who  wore  the  gray 
should  Hindi  from  it.  The  man  who  would  now  throw  a 
Democratic  vote  out  of  the  ballot  box,  no  matter  how  it  gets 
there,  ought  to  be  killed.  Shoot  the  man  who  does  it  on  the 
spot,  and  the  public  sentiment  of  the  world  will  sustain  you. 
Such  a  man  deserves  to  die  the  death  of  a  dog."f 

"  That's  true." 

"It  is  true;  and  the  men  who  secure  the  control  of  Missis- 
sippi to  the  white  men  will  in  the  future  be  ranked  among 
the  foremost  ])atriots  of  the  land.  It  is  a  noble  purpose,  a 
noble  purpose,  to  wrest  our  glorious  State  from  the  Yankees 
and  niggahs  and  scallawasfs." 

Pelter's  hand  was  resting  on  the  other's  knee  as  they  sat 
close  together,  whispering  in  the  dark. 

The  fingers  closed  on  the  knee. 

Each  finger  was  an  exclamation  of  approval. 

"  General,  I'm  your  man." 

"I  knew  it,  knew  it,  sah,  the  moment  I  saw  you.  Patriot- 
ism, sah.  Devotion  to  your  countiy  is  written  on  your 
face." 

All  that  any  person  had  ever  seen  before  was  hang-dog 
brutality. 

"I'd  just  like  to  lick  a  hundred  free  niggahs,  just  once  all 
round;  ef  I  didn't  make  them  know  thar  place  I'd  give  a  dollar 
a  head  for  all  I  failed  on,J;  and  you  can  bet  on  Savage  and 
Boozy  every  time." 

"I  know — I  have  seen  them!" 

"Have!     Talked  with  them?" 

"No!  I  will  to-night.  But  I  have  seen  enough  of  them  to 
know  they  are  the  right  men  for  such  noble  work." 

"  You  bet!  They  hain't  no  more  use  for  Yanks  than  I 
have.  Them  Yanks  is  low  down  triflin'  coots  anyway,  an'  as 
for  the  niggahs,  I  swan  I  hates  'em  as  freemen." 

"It  is  a  pleasure  to  hear  you,  sir;  a  pleasure  to  hear  you. 
Your  selection  is  another  proof  of  the  great  sagacity  of  my 
distinguished  friend.  Gen.  Pontoon." 

*  Aberdeen  (Miss.)  Examiner.  t  Yazoo  Herald. 

t  A  fact. 


THE  1900.  259 

Pelter  chuckled.  It  was  the  snarl  of  a  cur  with  a  smaller 
dog  under  his  feet.     After  a  moment's  pause  he  said: 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  forgot,  colonel." 

"What?" 

"  The  name." 

"  No.     1  did  not  forget.     I  am  coming  to  it." 

"What  is  it  to  be?" 

"1900!" 

"1900?" 

"Yes.  That  and  no  more.  Here  is  a  parcel  of  notices 
for  meetings.  You  will  put  the  number  of  your  company  on 
one  side.  You  had  best  commence  numbering  at  20.  Then 
the  members  will  think  there  are  a  greater  number  of  compa- 
nies in  the  work.  When  you  call  a  meeting  post  them  up. 
The  number  of  your  company  on  the  right,  the  date,  omitting 
the  month,  on  the  left." 

.   The  man  delivered  Pelter  the  parcel,  stood  up,  and  before 
Pelter  could  speak,  he  was  gone. 

That  night,  as  Capt.  Hiram  Pelter  afterward  learned,  the 
strange  man  met  Savage  and  Boozy  and  imparted  to  them  the 
same  instructions  and  left  them  with  a  similar  package.  When 
Pelter  reached  his  home  he  opened  the  parcel  and  saw  a 
number  of  small  bills  about  four  inches  square;  on  them  were 
printed  words  and  figures  like  this:* 

I  DON'T  KNOW. 


1900! 

In  the  morning  Pelter,  Savage  and  Boozy  met  and  com- 
pared notes.     Then  they  thought  of  the  man  of  packages  and 

*  See  Report  of  Mississippi  Election,  1876,  page  192. 


5J60  BRISTLINfi    WITH    THORNS. 

instructions.  What  was  his  name?  1900!  That  was  all  either 
knew.  Then  they  went  to  the  hotels.  No  such  person  was 
there.  No  such  person  had  been  seen  there.  Nor  could  they 
ever  afterwards  discover  that  any  one  had  seen  hiin  except 
the  editor  and  themselves.  He  came  mysteriously,  and  mys- 
teriously he  disappeared,  and  Slimpton  saw  him  no  more  until 
after  the  great  tragedy.  But  he  came  with  a  whirlwind  in  his 
cunning  brain,  and  he  turned  it  loose.. 


CLOUDS   CHARGED    WITH.  STORM.  261 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


CLOUDS    CHARGED    WITH    STORM. 


Before  the  end  of  a  week  another  visitor  honored  Slimp- 
ton  with  his  presence.  This  one  was  a  thing  of  adipose,  ur- 
banity and  sleekness;  white  hands  and  watch  chain,  coming 
with  flourish  of  trumpets.  It  was  tlie  distinguished  General 
Hytoan;  and  he  came  as  the  guest  of  Judge  Shootfast.  There 
are  men  too  vast  for  the  average  hotel.  Hytoan  was  one  of 
them.  After  dinner,  over  a  smoke — even  Hytoans  do  that — 
there  was  conversation — and  on  politics,  of  course.  It  was 
nuts  and  cheese.  Both  moaned  over  the  fallen  condition  of 
the  South  and  the  country.  "Ah!  for  the  old — the  good  old 
time  when  gentlemen  were  presidents;  when  gentlemen  con- 
trolled the  Government;  when  the  South  gave  it  tone  and 
character — all  gone  now,  alas,  and  alas  !  "  Then  Mrs.  Shoot- 
fast  joined  them,  where  they  were  seated  on  the  broad  veranda 
running  across  the  front  of  the  house. 

"  Ah,  gentlemen;  talking  treason." 

"Deg,r  madam,  there  never  was  treason  in  the  South,  never, 
madam,"  replied  Hytoan,  bowing  while  he  eyed  the  smoke 
curling  up  from  the  cigar  held  in  his  soft,  white  hand. 

"J  know,  but  these  Washington  people  say  so." 

"  My  dear  madam,  they  do  not  believe  it;  no,  none  of  them. 
No,  madam,  the  people  of  the  North,  ignorant  as  they  are, 
never  did  believe  that." 

"They  have  said  it,  general." 

"  Ah,  true  !  But  if  they  believed  we  were  guilty  of  treason 
why  did  not  they  try  some  of  us?  There  is  a  vulgarism, 
'proof  of  the  pudding.'     You  have  doubtless  heard  it." 

Mrs.  Shootfast  nodded. 

"  Exactly.     There  it  is,  madam,  in  a  nut  shell.     If  we  were 


262  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

traitors,  why  did  tliey  not  indict  and  try  some  of  us?     It  was, 
madam,  because  they  knew  we  were  not  so." 

"You  are  right, general,''  interrupted  the  judge;  "crime 
indeed  !  Loyalty  to  the  miserable  Washington  government 
is  the  only  crime  I  know." 

"  And,  my  dear  judge,  there  is  too  much  of  it  in  the  South," 
replied  Hytoan. 

"  Unfortunately,  yes,  deep-rooted  and  in  some  places,  here 
especially,  growing,  growing." 

"  It  is  the  new-fangled  machines  and  the  mills  and  what 
the  people  call  prosperity  that  does  it;  as  though  prosperity 
was  a  blessing  to  poor  trash.  And  "  added  Mrs.  Shootfast — 
it  was  her  tongue  that  was  running — "  how  I  do  detest  the 
clatter  of  those  mills.  Oh,  dear  !  we  will  never  see  the  good 
old  quiet  days  again." 

"And,"  said  the  judge,  "  the  free  schools  established  by  the 
Radicals  have  carried  away  others  of  our  people." 

"  Was  there  ever,"  responded  Hytoan,  "  a  greater  humbug! 
Education  should  not  be  universal.  All  minds  are  no  more 
capable  of  tuition  than  all  lands  are  capable  of  cultivation. 
Public  schools  should  be  abolished.  Education  was  never  in- 
tended for  any  but  gentlemen.  Free  schools  are  eleemosynary 
tributes  to  laziness  and  improvidence.*  I  agree  with  our 
Democratic  friends  in  Choctaw.  '  The  free  school  law  of  the 
State  meets  my  unqualified  condemnation.'  "f 

'  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Shootfast,  warmly.  "  It  is  better 
to  let  our  children  grow  up  in  ignorance  than  to  have  Puritan 
ideas  instilled  into  their  young  minds. "J 

"  But,"  added  the  judge,  "  they  exercise  a  weighty  influence 
upon  the  minds  of  the  people.  Rooting  them  in  what  they 
falsely  term  loyalty." 

General  Hytoan  was  a  good  listener.  When  the  judge 
finished  he  asked  in  a  reflective  sort  of  a  way  as  he  with  one 
little  white  finger  dusted  the  ashes  from  the  end  of  his  cigar: 
"  Do  you  not  think  we  are  responsible  for  some  of  it?  " 

*  Forrest  (Miss.)  Register. 

t  Resolutions  Choctaw  (Miss.)  County  Convention. 

t  Brandon  (Miss.)  Rupublicaa. 


CLOUDS    CHARGED    WITH    STORM.  263 

"  We  !     I  !     No  !     Indeed  no  !     Heaven  forbid." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Hytoan  said: 

"Ov^er  in  Alabama — Marion,  I  think — a  club  adopted  a 
resolution  like  this:  ''Resolved^  that  the  members  of  this  club 
in  their  social  intercourse  will  not  recognize  any  man  as  a  gen- 
tleman or  friend  who  may  accept  any  appointment  to  office 
under  any  Republican  Congress.'*  Suppose  we  all  tried 
that?" 

The  judge  hesitated.     But  Mrs.  Judge  did  not, 

"  It  would  be  excellent." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  madam.  Southern  white  men, 
and  Northern  men  who  come  among  us,  if  they  vote  the  Re- 
publican ticket,  should  be  made  to  feel  that  they  are  despica- 
ble outcasts,  cut  off  from  all  human  fellowship  and  sympathy. 
Between  them  and  us  there  can  be  nothing  but  hostility,  eter- 
nal and  undying,  and  there  is  not  a  murderer  or  a  thief  in  the 
world  for  whom  we  have  not  more  respect  than  we  have  for 
the  vagabonds  who  seek  to  impose  negro  rule  upon  the  peo- 
ple of  the  South."  | 

The  judge  looked  disquieted.  He  really  was  so,  and  he 
answered  haltingly:  "Perhaps  —  you  —  are  —  right.  But — 
what — good — would — come — out — of — it  ?  " 

*'  Because  of  the  colored  majority  ?" 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  My  dear  judge.  In  Alabama  they  tried  the  policy  of 
conciliation  as  we  have  tried  it  here.  But  they  did  not  carry 
one  single. vote  by  it.  Little  by  little  they  came  to  try  the 
color  line  in  municipal  elections,  then  in  county  elections  here 
and  there,  and  finding  it  to  succeed,  they  at  last  made  tlie  State 
canvass  upon  it  and  redeemed  the  State."  J 

"  It  has  been  sug-o-ested  that  suffrao;e  founded  on  limited 
educational  qualifications  might  aid  us,  but  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it." 

"  Undoubtedly  it  would  not.  At  first  it  would  disfran- 
chise fifteen  thousand  whites  and  probably  two  or  three  times 

*  Resolutions  Democratic  Club,  Marion,  Alabama, 
t  Vicksburg  Times. 

X  Speech  of  Col.  Taylor,  Democrat,  of  Alabama,  made  in  advising  Mississippi  to  pur- 
sue the  same  policy. 


264  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

that  many  negroes,  but  in  ninety  days  every  negro  in  the  State 
would  learn  enough  readincr  and  writing  to  be  a  voter,  and  not 
one  poor  white  in  a  thousand  would  attempt  it.  It  would  only 
place  us  in  a  more  hopeless  minority." 

"  That  is  my  view  of  it,  general.  But  to  pursue  a  policy 
of  social  ostracism  would  embarrass  some  of  us  very  much." 

"  In  what  way,  judge  ?" 

"  We  have  a  Yankee  postmistress,  a  most  estimable  lady 
and  a  very  efficient  officer,  and  she  accepted  the  office  on  our 
solicitation." 

"  Yes,  doubtless." 

"  And  there  is  Col.  Trenhom  —  " 

"I  remember  him,  a  gallant  Confederate  soldier.  I  knew 
his  father  before  him.  I  had  the  honah  to  serve  with  him  in 
Mexico." 

"  Yes,  and  the  son  is  like  the  father,  a  gallant  Southern 
gentleman.  A  gallant,  whole-souled  man,  a  noble  fellow. 
And  his  wife  is  one  of  the  sweetest  women  in  the  world  ;  a 
special  favorite  of  Mrs.  Shootfast  and  myself;  and  yet  the 
colonel  is  a  Republican." 

*'  A  little  pressure  and  he  might  abandon  it." 

"Not  he,  general.  It  is  a  matter  of  principle  with  him. 
He  says  the  magnanimity  of  the  North  at  the  surrender,  was 
unparalleled,  and  he  can  not  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  become 
their  traducer  or  enemy." 

"  You  think  no  pressure  would  move  him  ?  " 

"  None.  He  is  wedded  to  public  schools,  to  prosperity,  to 
progress,  and  all  the  quackery  of  Republicanism." 

"If  you  are  correct,  it  is  a  pity." 

"Yes,  general,  it  is  a  pity." 

"  But  we  have  a  duty  to  our  State  and  our  beloved  sec- 
tion. Should  friendship  stand  between  us  and  its  perform- 
ance ?  " 

"It  is  a  difficult  problem." 

"Undoubtedly,"  responded  Hytoan,  "  and  one  which  has 
confronted  and  puzzled  most  of  our  friends.  I  have  suffered 
no  little  with  the  others.  My  friends  are  my  weak  point" 
(very  sympathetic).     "I  cling   to   my  friends.     To   part  with 


CLOUDS  CHARGED  WITH  STORM.  265 

them  is  like  parting  with  life  "  (the  sympathies  augmented). 
"  Yes,  my  dear  judge,  like  parting  with  life;  but  —  ah,  me  ! 
what  have  we  Southern  gentlemen  not  suffered  for  our  States 
and  our  section  ?  1  have  done  it.  Not  turned  to  hate  them, 
you  know.  I  couldn't  do  that.  No,  sir.  I  could  not  do  that 
— not  turn  them  out  of  my  heart.  That  would  be  impossible  " 
(this  in  tremulous  tones,  very  stagy);  "  but  I  did  shut  my  doors 
against  them.  I  have  done  it,  dear  madam,  sorrowfully;  you 
can  understand  it"  (madam  nodded).  "I  have  done  it  for  the 
cause  and  the  State,  my  dear  judge,  in  full  assurance  that  in  a 
little  time — (slowly)  a  little  time  (soft  and  slow)  it  would  be 
all  ri^ht   ao;ain." 

"If  I  could  think  that,"  said  the  judge,  musingly. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I  speak  with  confidence  on  this  point. 
It  is  the  experience  of  our  friends  in  Alabama  and  Georgia." 

"  It  is  ?  If  this  alternative  is  but  temporary,  where  is 
its  use  ?  " 

"  It  may  have  little  effect  on  strong  minds  like  our  brave, 
wayward  friend  Trenhom.  But  the  weak  crowd,  the  great 
multitude  of  fainter  men,  are  turned  away  from  the  Republi- 
cans and  riveted  to  our  cause.  The  Republicans  are  thus 
reduced  to  a  hopeless  minority — none  but  blacks  and  Yankees 
— and  honorable  gentlemen  like  our  distinguished  friend,  turn 
away  from  them  in  disgust.  Then  we  open  our  arms  to  them 
again." 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  it  would  be  so." 

"  My  dear  judge,  is  it  not  worth  trying  ?" 

"  It  would  be  a  great  cross  to  me.  I  value  Trenhom's 
friendship." 

"  '  No  cross,  no  crown,'  you  know,  my  dear  judge." 

Several  minutes  the  judge  sat  in  troubled  silence,  then  the 
general  turned  to  Mrs.  Shootfast. 

"  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  madam?  " 

*'  Yes,  general  I  do.  I  will  never  call  on  them  again  or 
receive  their  calls;  never." 

"  Until  they  reform,  my  dear  madam,  or  we  have  redeemed 
the  State." 

The  general  was  softly  angling  for  Shootfast. 


266  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 

"  I  don't  know,  general,  when  I  forget  I  forget." 

"xVh,  my  dear  madam,  you  ladies  have  always  been  distin- 
guished by  self-sacrificing  patriotism,  deeper,  far  deeper  than 
ours." 

"You  are  complimentary." 

"No,  madam,"  with  his  white  hand  over  his  heart  and 
bowing.  "  Truthful.  But  we  poor  gentlemen,  when  we  re- 
member— we  remember.  For  the  cause  you  ladies  can  bury 
your  feelings  forever.     We  can  only  do  it  temporarily." 

This  was  crafty  angling. 

The  judge  was  listening. 

Much  as  he  hated  the  Yankees  and  Republicans,  he  would 
have  promptly  scouted  a  proposition  to  turn  his  back  upon 
Trenhom  forever.  But  as  a  temporary  expedient  it  was  less 
offensive. 

He  was  silent. 

Then  absorbing. 

Then  assenting. 

He  agreed  to  try  it  as  a  "  temporary  expedient." 

General  Hytoan  was  too  wary  to  exult,  too  shrewd  to  con- 
tinue the  conversation.  He  had  trapped  his  game,  and  he  was 
too  good  a  hunter  to  play  with  the  trap  and  permit  it  to 
escape. 

He  knew  the  temporary  would  turn  into  the  permanent. 

Friendship  lives  in  the  light  of  smiles,  of  kindness,  of  reci- 
procity, and  of  continuity. 

Friendship  is  not  a  snake-skin  to  be  shed  and  grow  again. 

Hytoan  knew  this;  he  knew  that  temporary  alienation 
between  these  men  meant  bitterness  and  afterward  hate.  It 
is  but  a  step  from  one  to  the  other. 

Shootfast  was  old  and  experienced,  and  should  have 
known,  but  there  was  Hytoan,  distinguished,  a  social  leader, 
with  his  white  hands  and  oily,  hopeful  words;  and  there  was 
the  cause — "  the  glorious  cause." 

Shootfast  fell,  as  wiser  men  than  he  have  done. 

Before  leaving  Slimpton,  Hytoan  met  Valore.  He  as- 
sented, of  course.  "  White  men — Southern  gentlemen — 
ought  to  rule   the  State.     Not,  my  dear  general,"  he  added 


CLOUDS  CHARGED  WITH  STORM.  267 

to  Hytoan,  "that  there  is  anything  special  to  complain  of; 
there  is  not;  but  because  it  is  their  right.  We  were  born  to 
it.  In  this  county  we  have  no  cause  of  complaint  except  that. 
The  taxes  are  light,  crimes  are  few,  the  laws  are  fairly  admin- 
istered, and  the  prosperity  is  without  parallel.  Of  course, 
some  who  were  up  are  now  down,  but  as  a  whole  the  people 
were  never  so  prosperous;  never  half  so  prosperous." 

''Yes,  colonel,  I  recognize  the  prosperity,  but  the  seed  is 
planted,  and  there  are  seeds  that  can  never  be  destroyed." 

"  Except  they  be  torn  up  by  the  roots." 

"  Some  not  even  then." 

"Unfortunately,  they  are  mostly  thistles,  briars  and  nox- 
ious weeds." 

"  And  prosperity,  my  dear  colonel.  It  is  a  ball  set  in 
motion  on  a  hill  side— it  rolls  on  of  itself." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Our  experience  elsewhere  justifies  us  in  believing  there 
is  no  doubt  of  it." 

"Well,  general,  I  shall  hail  our  possession  of  the  State 
with  joy;  but  between  you  and  I,  it  sometimes  occurs  to  me 
that  a  three-bushel  yield  isn't  worth  the  seed." 

"Ah!  true.  But  we'll  have  more  than  a  three-bushel 
yield.  Yes,  my  dear  colonel,  we  never  failed;  never,  sir, 
except  when  we  appealed  to  force.  That,  sir,  was  the  one 
great  blunder  of  the  South." 

"  Undoubtedly  it  was  a  mistake,  or  worse." 

"  But  for  that  we  might  have  controlled  the  Government 
continuously." 

"Except,  perhaps,  during  the  Lincoln  term." 

"  Even  then,  I  thought  you  knew." 

"  Perhaps  I  did,  but — I  reckon  I  have  forgotten." 

"Why,  sir,  his  election  was  of  Southern  devising.  Seces- 
sion had  been  determined  upon,  and  the  Democratic  party 
was  divided  by  our  friends.  It  was  done,  purposely  to  elect 
Lincoln  and  afford  us  the  pretext  for  the  separation  we 
desired." 

'*Hem!  I  remember  now.  I  heard  of  it  at  the  time  and 
concurred  in  its  wisdom." 


268  BRTSTLIXG    WITH    THORXS, 

"Yes,  colonel,  we  all  did,  and  it  was  the  only  piece  of 
bungling  work  the  South  ever  engaged  in.  People  speak  of 
us,  the  South,  as  hot  and  bold,  and  of  the  North  as  cool  and 
cunning.  There  never  was  anything  wider  of  the  trutli.  It  is 
we  who  have  always  been  the  astute,  crafty,  cunning  section. 
By  these  qualities,  with  the  majority  of  wealth  and  numbers 
against  us,  we  controlled  the  country  for  half  a  century,  and, 
if  we  never  had  laid  them  aside,  would  be  in  control  to-day. 
Talk  of  the  Yankee  as  shrewd  and  cunning,  and  artful — 
pshaw!  he  is  and  always  was  a  child  at  the  business.  The 
South  is  the  natural  home  of  the  subtle.  Diplomacy,  intrigue, 
and  Machiavelism  were  born  under  Southern  skies,  kissed  by 
Southern  suns,  nursed  in  Southern  laps.  They  are  our  natural 
weapons,  and  we  were  supreme  idiots  when  we  abandoned 
them." 

"I  recognize  the  justice  of  your  observations;  but,  after 
all,  beyond  controlling  our  own  State,  which  we  ought  to  do, 
what  will  we  gain  from  it  all?" 

"We  will  control  the  country  as  we  did  before  the 
war." 

"Ah,  my  friend,  you  are  sanguine." 

"Look,  colonel.  See  how  little  we  need  beyond  a  solid 
South  Two  Northern  States  will  do  it.  And  the  Democrats 
of  the  Nortli  are  as  eager  to  kiss  the  dirt  under  our  feet  as 
they  were  twenty  years  ago.  Give  us  the  solid  South  and 
then  be  quiet,  and  they  will  quickly  secure  us  the  rest. 

"All  that  may  be  possible,  but,  goneral,  I  confess,  except 
for  niggah  suffrage  I  would  prefer  an  alliance  with  the  other 
party." 

"With  the  Republicans?" 

"  Yes,  with  the  Republicans.  What  would  we  say  to  a 
people  in  our  midst  who,  in  the  crisis  of  a  great  war,  acted  as 
the  Democratic  party  did  in  the  North?  What  do  we  now 
call  the  very  few  men  among  us  who  were  untrue  to  us?  " 

"  Renegades  and  despicable  traitors." 

"  Precisely.  And  were  not  the  Northern  Democrats  that 
to  their  own  people?" 


CLOUDS    CHARGED    WITH    STORM.  269 

"  Undoubtedly  they  were;  but,  my  dear  colonel,  during  a 
war  we  are  compelled  to  use  spies  and  dirty  tools,  and  though 
we  may  despise  them,  we  can  not  afford,  you  know,  to  be  too 
nice  in  the  selection  of  instruments.  We  must  look  to  results 
and  close  our  eyes  to  the  means." 

"  Possibly." 

"  And  they  were  of  o;reat  service  to  us." 

"  That  I  have  doubted.  Reliance  on  them  protracted  the 
war.  We  all  know  that.  It  postponed  the  inevitable  end  and 
added  to  the  sum  of  expense  and  suffering.  T  tell  you, 
general,  a  party  that  has  been  false  to  the  people  among 
which  they  live;  false  to  their  States;  false  to  their  country, 
right  or  wrong,  in  the  death  grapple  of  war.  is  not  to  be 
trusted.  They  will  betray  us,  as  they  have  betrayed  their 
countrymen  of  the  North." 

"  Perhaps  they  would  if  it  was  not  their  interest  to  do 
otherwise.  They  have  no  standing  except  with  us,  none  what- 
ever. They  must  succeed  through  us,  and  by  fidelity  to  our 
interests,  or  sink  out  of  sight.  It  is  their  fidelity  to  their  own 
interest  that  is  our  main  reliance.  Through  this  we  must  suc- 
ceed." 

"  But,  suppose  we  do,  what  will  we  do  with  success?  That 
is  the  question.  Tear  out  all  the  amendments  to  the  constitu- 
tion ?     I  am  not  prepared  for  that." 

"No,  colonel;  we  will  not  tear  them  all  out.  If  we  can 
secure  pay  for  our  war  losses;  pensions  for  our  wounded;  pay 
for  our  slaves,  and  then  can  absolutely  control  the  negro,  I 
prefer  that  he  should  be  free.  We  can  secure  and  compel  his 
labor  at  lower  than  the  cost  of  slavery.  There  will  be  no 
money  invested  in  the  man.  That  is  one  savin^r.  We  shall 
not  have  to  care  for  them  in  youth  or  old  age.  Neither  their 
burials  nor  deaths  will  be  a  charge  or  a  loss  to  us.  We  will 
have  his  labor  and  escape  his  burden.  Then,  sir,  it  will  be 
glorious.  Glorious  to  see  the  Government,  the  Washington 
we  failed  to  capture,  in  the  hands  of  our  Davises,  Johnsons, 
Gordons  and  Hamptons.  Glorious  to  feel  that  the  blue  must 
supplicate  the  despised  gray  for  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the 


270  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Government  table.  Ah,  colonel,  my  dear  old  friend.  If  we 
can  only  see  it  before  we  go.  See  the  frayed  old  jackets  of 
gray,  and  the  bonnie  blue  at  their  heads,  marching  to  peacea- 
ble possession  of  Washington.  When  that  day  comes  I  shall 
be  content  to  say,  '  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart 
in  peace.'  " 

The   next  day  Hytoan  departed.     Behind  him  the  clouds 
were  gathered  and  charged  with  storm. 


THE    STORM    BURSTS    OVER    SLIMPTON.  271 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    STORM    BURSTS    OVER    SLIMPTON. 

During  the  two  days  succeeding  the  departure  of  General 
Hytoan,  Mrs.  Judge  Shootfast  was  the  busiest  woman  in  Slimp- 
ton.  Her  carriage  stood  before  the  doors  of  all  her  old  ''true 
to  the  cause  "  friends.  Not  one  of  them,  in  a  circuit  of  many 
miles,  was  omitted.  On  the  third  evening  the  greater  part  of 
them  were  gathered  in  her  parlors.  The  Buzzer  was  there 
too,  in  the  hands  o'f  every  gentleman  and  many  of  the  ladies. 
Its  leader  was  a  stunner. 

"The  time  for  action,"  so  read  the  Buzzer,  "has  arrived. 
Friends,  countrymen,  to  your  posts.  Bury  feeling,  bury 
friendships,  bury  love,  bury  everything  but  duty  to  your  State 
and  race.  The  niggers  are  organizing  with  intentions  threat- 
ening the  safety  of  the  white  people  of  the  community.  That 
is  the  fruit  of  Radicalism.  And  he  who  dallies  with  Radical- 
ism in  the  State  stands,  torch  in  hand,  beside  a  powder  maga- 
zine, and  puts  to  hazard  the  safety,  honor  and  lives  of  those 
that  it  should  be  the  pride  of  manhood  to  battle  for,  and,  if 
needs  be,  die  for.*  We  have  men  in  our  midst.  Southern 
men,  men  who  were  Confederate  soldiers,  who  are  thus  dally- 
ing, thus  standing  torch  in  hand.  We  blush  for  them.  Shame  ! 
Shame  !  Shame  !  These  men  are  supporting  the  Republican 
ticket;  acting  in  a  manner  totally  offensive  to  the  interests  of 
the  white  men  of  our  county  and  against  the  policy  of  the 
Democratic  Conservative  party.  These  men  are  traitors  to 
their  country  and  enemies  to  their  neighbors.  Henceforth  the 
honorable  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  this  community  should  have 
no  moral,  social  or  political  associations  with  them.  They  are 
beasts  in  men's  clothing,   and  henceforth  they  should  not  be 

*  Aberdeen  (Miss.)  Examiner. 


272  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOIIXS. 

countenanced,  nor  should  we  countenance  any  man  or  woman 
who  condescends  to  associate  socially  with  tiiem.*  Let  una- 
nimity of  sentiment  pervade  the  minds  of  our  people.  Let  in- 
vincible determination  be  depicted  on  every  countenance. 
Drive  them  from  society.  Make  them  lepers  and  outcasts. 
Send  them  to  herd  with  niggers  and  Yankees  and  other  dogs. 
Rise,  fathers!  Rise,  ladies  !  Rome  demands  your  aid.  Hit 
them  hip  and  thigh — everywhere,  at  all  times.  Then  will  woe, 
irretrievable  woe  betide  the  Radical  tatterdemalians."  f 

Valore  and  his  wife,  Bartdale,  the  nabobs,  all  were  there 
and  read  the  Buzzer,  and  all  chattered. 

Craft  of  the  Buzzer  was  there  too. 

"Noble  sentiments — yes,  sah,  noble  sentiments,"  said  Bart- 
dale. "  I  congratulate  you,  sah  " — (this  to  the  Buzzer  editor) 
— '•  yes,  congratulate  you  !  Doing  glorious  service  !  Yes, 
sah  !  glorious  service  to  the  State." 

"And  you  agree  with  me,  colonel,"  said  the  elated 
Buzzer. 

"  Agree  with  you,"  replied  Bartdale.  "  Sah,  among  hon- 
orable gentlemen  there  can  be  no  dissent,  no,  sah,  no  dissent. 
These  renegades.  Yes,  sah,  they  are  that,  renegades  and 
traitahs,  sah,  ought  to  be  put  down,  ought  not  to  be  encour- 
aged, sah.  The  idea  !  The  idea,  sah.  It  is  monstrous,  yes, 
monstrous,  sah,  to  give  them  the  ballot  and  political  powah. 
Think  of  it,  sah,  political  powah  in  the  hands  of  lazy,  idle, 
shiftless  niggahs,  sah.  It  is  intolerable,  sah,  monstrous,  sah. 
Lazy,  idle,  ungrateful  niggahs.  They  are  free  and  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  sah-  They  are  sinking,  going  down,  yes, 
after  all  we  did  for  them  in  the  good  old  days,  sah.  Lazy, 
miserable  crittahs,  sah.  Yes,  sah,  they  need  masters;  need 
'em  more  than  evah,  sah,  and  tliey,  it  is  monstrous  to  think 
of,  sah;  votahs,  and  making  officers." 

Bartdale  had  aged  since  the  day  he  huzzahed  over  the  fall 
of  Sumter  at  Bugby's,  and  fortune  had  dealt  hardly  with  him. 
On  that  day  he  was  ''an  hundred  niggah  man,"  and  in  debt. 
]3ut   the    increase  of  negroes  paid  interest  and  held  him  up. 

*  Resolutions  Xoxumbee  (Miss.)  Democratic  Club, 
t  Yazoo  (Miss.)  Democrat. 


THE    STORM    BURSTS    OVER    SLIMPTON.  273 

Emancipation  swept  away  the  negroes  and  the  interest  paying 
power  of  their  increase. 

Debts  swept  away  the  plantation,  and  Bartdale,  in  his  old 
age,  was  a  pauper.  For  a  few  months  he  lived  on  his 
friends. 

But  the  attrition  of  bread  and  butter  giving  wears  out 
friendship,  and  Bartdale  began  to  suffer. 

Then  Jack' Bartdale  found  him. 

Jack  had  been  the  colonel's  slave,  and  when  emancipation 
came.  Jack  and  his  wife  bolted. 

They  were  gone  for  months. 

Gone  to  test  if  they  had  the  right  to  stay  away.  To  know 
if  freedom  was  a  mouthing  or  a  fact. 

There  was  no  way  to  know  but  to  try  the  right  to  use  it. 

That  tested.  Jack  returned  and  found  his  old  master  down 
in  the  dumps,  on  the  verge  of  starvation,  and  talking  of 
suicide. 

"  Too  bad  to  see  ole  maws  dis  yeah  way,  like  no  'count  po' 
white  trash." 

That  was  what  Jack  said  when  he  saw  his  old  master's  con- 
dition. 

Chloe,  that  was  his  wife,  assented. 

After  that  they  supported  Bartdale.  They  labored  early 
and  late,  denied  themselves  in  a  multitude  of  ways,  amply 
paid  when  they  saw  the  old  colonel,  in  spotless  linen  and  well 
brushed  clothes,  enjoying  a  laugh  with  any  of  his  old  com- 
rades. 

The  night  that  Bartdale  stood  in  the  Shootfast  parlors, 
denouncing  "idle,  worthless  niggahs,"  he  was'  an  existence 
of  negro  charity;  he  owed  his  white  shirt,  its  frills;  the 
clothes  on  his  back,  the  food  within  him,  and  the  bloom  on 
his  aged  cheeks,  to  the  free-will  offering  of  negroes  who 
had  been  his  slaves,  to  whom  he  never  was  either  a  kind 
or  over  indulgent  master. 

And  to-day  there  are  a  multitude  of  Bartdales  through- 
out the  South. 

Bartdale*  was  not  alone  in  his  congratulations  to  the  Buz- 
zer.    Its  editor  strutted  in  the  incense  of  commendation, 
18 


274:  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Valoie  had  his  say.  '  So  had  others.  And  Mrs.  Shoot- 
fast  was  voluble.  She  did  not  say  that  she  was  part  of  the 
inspiration  of  the  Buzzer  article.  Nevertheless  it  was  a 
fact.  During  the  Hytoan  visit,  she  resolved  on  the  parlor 
gathering. 

The  Buzzer  editor  was  invited.  "And  an  article,  a  few  of 
your  admirable  words,  you  know.  So  charmingly  pointed 
and  piquant;  they  will  lead  us  up  to  the  point.  So  delight- 
fully, my  dear  Mr.  Craft."  That  was  Mrs.  Shootfast's  sugges- 
tion.    And  the  words  were  uttered  as  we  have  seen. 

With  the  hot  Buzzer  pills  and  the  doctress  Shootfast  and 
other  like  minded  enchantresses  to  sugar-coat  and  adminis- 
ter them,  eflfects  were  quickly  reached.  The  assemblage . 
agreed,  "  hereafter  there  shall  be  no  social  recognition  of 
the  Yankee  or  scallawag,  and  no  social  intercourse  with  those 
who  do  recognize  them." 

Major  Dale  Cartier  alone  was  gloomy  and  Erma  Cartier 
tearful. 

"Oh,  Dale,  how  shall  I  ever  give  up  dear  Kitty  Huntley? 
and  her  husband  saved  your  life.  Only  for  him  !  only  for  him! 
oh.  Dale  !  how  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  it."  Thus  Mrs. 
Cartier  sobbed  in  the  ears  of  her  husband.    . 

Dale  made  no  response,  only  walked  away  in  gloomy  silence 
among  the  bitter-tongued  throng. 

The  next  day  many  rumors  were  in  the  air,  and  Slimpton 
was  seething. 

"  The  negroes  were  arming  and  rising." 

So  it  was  rumored,  no  one  knew  where,  or  by  whom  led, 
and  no  one  could  say  who  started  the  rumor. 

But  it  was  a  fact,  confidently  asserted. 

A  and  B  had  said  it. 

Tiiey  had  mysterious  sources  of  information. 

And  —  well,  everybody  knew  it  would  come  to  that. 

It  was  the  long-predicted  result  of  emancipation  and 
suffrage. 

"  Yes,  sah  !  "  said  one  and  another,  "the  ballot  has  turned 
the  niggahs  into  demons." 


THE    STORM    BUKSTS    OVER    SLIMPTON.  275 

Later  in  the  day  there  came  rumors  that  masked  compa- 
nies had  been  riding  the  night  before. 

The  whites  who  heard  it  were  jubilant.  The  negroes,  who 
remembered  their  experiences  immediately  after  the  war,  and 
who  had  heard  of  masked  companies  elsewhere,  drew  a  long 
breath. 

They  were  troubled.  They  saw  the  clouds  gathering.  They 
heard  the  mutterings  of  the  storm. 

Its  breathings  penetrated  them  with  despair. 


276  BBISTLING    WITH   THOKNS. 


CHAPTER  XXVTI. 

"  IF    A    D NIG    VOTE    AGIN    US    HE    SHALL  FOREVER    DIE." 

Pelter,  Savage  and  Boozy  were  congenial  spirits,  and  they 
had  found  employment  that  suited  them. 

Any  work  of  brutality  did  that. 

Of  willing  material  there  was  no  end. 

The  filthy  cabins  of  the  neighborhood  were  full  of  the  idle, 
profligate  and  sinister. 

It  was  but  to  ask  and  secure.  They  asked  and  enrolled 
twenty  on  the  first  day.     Joe  Ratley  was  among  them. 

Joe  was  delighted. 

He  would  again  hear  the  crack  of  the  whip. 
The  crack  of  the  lash  was  sweeter  music  in  the  ears  of  the 
Confederate  deserter  than  the  whiz  of  the  Union  bullets. 

"  Jine?  dag  awn,  agin  niggahs  an'  no  count  Yanks?  Yaas, 
yeu  bet  yo'  boots  on't !  Yaas,  sah,  put  me  down  quicker'n 
scat.  Dad  rat  ef  it  don't  make  me  sick  in  the  innards  to  see 
the  airs  them  nigs  and  Yanks  put  on." 

So  Joe's  name  went  down,  and  other  Joe's  with  him,  until 
Pelter,  Savage  and  Boozy  had  each  a  sufficient  number  for  im- 
mediate operations. 

Then  the  committee  applied  to  Shootfast  for  money. 

Shootfast  went  out  with  one  of  those  pests  of  moneyed 
people — a  subscription  paper. 

Everybody  hurrahed  for  the  South. 

They  do  elsewhere  for  railroads  and  bridges,  and  tunnels 
and  churches,  and  for  everything  else.  They  are  magnificent. 
Ought  to  succeed.  Ought  to  be  paid  for — out  of  other  peo- 
ple's pockets. 

This  paper  was  no  exception. 

The  town  overflowed  with  good  wishes  and  words. 


"if    a    D NIG    VOTE    AGIN    US."  277 

Good  wish;^s  and  words  don't  deplete  the  purse — but  cash 
— that  was  anovher  thin  or. 

Money  was  more  difficult  to  secure. 

Hearts  were  open  and  purses  closed. 

Shootfast  found  it  a  difficult  task. 

A  dozen  times  he  was  inclined  to  abandon  it. 

Thrice  a  dozen  times  he  roundly  swore  they  were  all 
stingier  than  Yankees  and  meaner  than  niggers. 

At  last,  to  his  intense  relief,  he  reached  the  point  where  he 
could  prudently  pay  the  deficit  needed.     Then  he  paused. 

The  day's  work  left  him  doubtful  if  a  little  Yankee  leaven 
was  not  after  all  a  good  thing  in  the  town. 

"Certainly,"  he  said  to  his  wife  after  reaching,  home,  "  I 
could  have  secured  three  times  the  sum  for  any  reasonable 
purpose  from  half  a  dozen  Yankees  in  the  place  and  had  no 
words  about  it." 

But  the  money  was  raised,  turned  over  to  Pelter,  Savage 
and  Boozy,  and  minus  some  crimping  for  "  cawn  juice  "  it  was 
quickly  applied  to  equipping  the  eager  recruits. 

The  Pelter  company  was  first  on  the  road. 

For  half  the  first  night  they  rode  about  aimless.  Rode 
about  negro  cabins,  shouting  and  blowing  horns.  On  the  way 
out  some  one  travestied  a  sweet  hymn,  and  as  they  rode  they 
sang  it: 

'"  A  charge  to  keep  I  have 
A  God  to  glorify; 

If  a  d nig  vote  agia  us, 

He  shall  forever  die.''* 

They  liked  that. 

It  suited  their  depraved  natures. 

They  rolled  it  under  their  tongues  as  a  sweet  morsel. 
It  became  the  "  My  Maryland  "  of  the  new  Dixie. 
They  bellowed  it, 
They  roared  it. 

And  the  silent  forests  echoed  back  their  profanity. 
But  riding   and  tooting  and  singing  became  monotonous, 
and  like  everything  monotonous,  tiresome. 

*  Testimony  of  John  Longwood. 


278  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

It  was  a  bore. 

They  ought  to  do  something-,  if  only  to  get  their  hands  in. 

Action  is  the  grindstone  that  sharpens  men. 

"But  what  will  we  do?" 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  they  were  halted  in  the  road, 
clustered  like  a  covey  of  partridges,  in  the  deep  shadow  of 
the  trees. 

Various  negro  and  Yankee  names  were  suggested. 

The  Yankee  was  voted  down. 

"  Too  airly  to  tech  Yanks.  They're  ugly  customers  to 
handle." 

All  agreed  to  that. 

An  idea  dawned  upon  the  dull  brain  of  Joe  Ratley. 

"  Let's  give  Nig  Awk  a  shake.  I  don't  keer  how  seveig- 
rous.  Ding  him,  I'd  like  ter  take  a  squall  outen  the  perked 
up  niggah  !  " 

"  Young  Awk?  "  asked  one. 

"Gawl,  no  !  The  nigs  'bout  his  place  ur  thicker  ner  bugs 
in  a  bed.  Git,  ole  snaggle-tooth  Awk.  The  ole  nig's  ole  an' 
can't  do  nuffin." 

"  That's  so,"  shouted  half  a  dozen. 

Pelter  was  delighted.  "  Yes,  boys,  that  Awk's  a  mighty 
mean  Yank  nio;.  Alias  hanorino-  about  the  Yanks  and  Rads. 
Let's  shuck  him." 

"  Forward  !  " 

With  this  command  the  horses  wheeled  and  dashed  away 
after  Pelter. 

Two  miles  of  a  ride  over  the  hills  brought  them  to  Plu- 
tarch Trenhom's  cabin. 

It  was  a  pretty  little  place,  embowered  in  roses  and  flow- 
ering shrubbery. 

Reaching  the  cabin,  the  horsemen  rode  in  through  the  gate 
and  dashed  up  to  the  door. 

Then  they  made  several  circuits  about  it,  racing,  shouting, 
singiniT  and  horn-blowino^. 

Hearing  the  noise,  Awk  rose  from  his  bed,  and  in  his 
night  clothes  tottered  to  the  door,  and  seeing  the  men  tearing 
through    his    cherished    flower    beds,    he    expostulated.     The 


"if    a    D NIG    VOTE    AGIN    US."  279 

flowers  were  the  gift  of  his  loved  mistress.  That  he  told  them. 
"  Deah  Miss  Lou  done  gib  de  seed  and  plant  ebry  one  o'  dem 
wid  her  own  blessed  hans.     Deed  she  did!" 

Joe  Ratley  rode  up  before  him. 

"  Shet,  you  drat  niggah." 

The  old  man,  bent  nearly  double  with  age,  stood  in  the 
doorway  looking  out  at  the  masked  crowd,  listening,  as  if  to 
detect  the  voice. 

Ratley  cried  out  again. 

"  See  how  neah  I  kin  come  to  the  nig's  head." 

Then  he  raised  his  pistol  and  fired. 

Probably  it  was  a  mere  bravado — an  effort  at  intimidation. 

Awk  was  not  hit. 

The  smoke  lifted  slowly  up  from  the  doorway,  disclosing 
the  old  man  standing  immovable  as  he  was  before  the  shot 
was  fired. 

Brave  men  in  the  clutch  of  the  inexorable  never  flinch, 
and  Awk  was  a  brave  man. 

"  Good  gen'lemen,  I  hain't  nebber  done  nuflin  to  none  ob 
yer." 

Several  of  the  maskers  had  already  dismounted  and  ap- 
proached the  door. 

Pelter,  pistol  in  hand,  was  foremost  among  them. 

"  Let's  have  no  niggah  gab." 

"  Mawstah,  I  ain't  gabbin." 

"Jist  you  shet!  does  yer  heah?"  said  Joe  Ratley, plunging 
his  clenched  fist  into  the  aged  black's  face.  "  Shet  an'  heah 
the  capin,  then  yerl  git  a  spell  o'  breathin'." 

The  others  laughed  at  Joe's  attempt  at  wit,  and  Pelter 
asked: 

"Well,  Awk,  how  do  you  like  us?" 

"  Doan 'o,  cap'in!  " 

"Captain  who?"  asked  Pelter.  He  was  evidently  startled, 
thinking  his  disguise  was  penetrated,  and  having  no  desire  to 
be  discovered. 

"  Doan  'o.     I'ze  tryin'  to  make  out." 

Pelter  breathed  more  freely. 

"An'  you  can't  make  us  out?" 


280  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  No,  sah,  not  pe'tic'lah!  " 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  us! " 

*'I  doan  'o  as  I  mos'Iy  does,  sah!" 

"Well  got  up,  hain't  we?" 

"  You^ze  mighty  skeary." 

"You'll  be  skeered  a  dawg'd  sight  wuss  foah  we  uns  gits 
through  with  yer,"  interjected  Ratley. 

"You  just  bet!"  added  another. 

"He'll  think  a  whirlicane's  done  struck  him." 

"What  hez  I  bin  doin',  mawstahs?" 

"Doin'!  Doin'!  You  drat  niggah,"  responded  Pelter. 
"  Hear  him,  boys.  Innercent  niggah,  what  nebbah  stole  a 
chicken." 

"I  nebbah  stole  nuffin,  mawstah." 

"No,  but  you've  done  a  dawg'd  sight  wuss,  hain't  ye?" 

"No,  mawstah!  " 

"Yes,  you  have!  ' 

"Infernal,  lying  niggah!" 

"  Choke  him." 

"Hain't  you  been  voting  the  Radical  ticket?" 

A  half  dozen  tongues  were  moving  at  once. 

"  I  bin  well  sposed  wid  de  'Publicans,  sah,"  replied  Awk. 

"  And  you  voted  with  them?  " 

"Yes,  sah!  dat  pawty's  'titled  to  my  reward,  sah!" 

"  Well,  you've  got  to  stop  it." 

"Yes,  sah!" 

"You  hear?" 

"Yes,  sah!" 

**  And  you've  got  to  promise  not  to  vote  the  Republican 
ticket  any  more?"  ^ 

"I  can't  do  dat,  mawstah."  Awk  had  straightened  uj)  as 
far  as  was  possible  for  him.      "  No,  mawstah;  I  can't  do  dat." 

"  You  won't?  " 

"No,  mawstah;  dat  pawty  made  de  culled  people  free, 
sah,  an'  dey  is  'titled  to  ouah  reward,  sah.  'Deed,  sah,  dey  is 
'titled  to  ouah  reward  in  dis  yeah  world." 

"And  you  are  going  to  keep  on  voting  with  them?" 

"  So  long  as  dey  does  de  right,  sah,  an'  de  good  J^awd  gibs 


"if    a    D —    NIG    VOTE    AGIN    US."  281 

me  to  sense  de  right  sah.  Yes,  mawstah,  I  mus'  do  dat.  Dey 
mus'  hab  ouah  reward  for  de  freedom." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Awk,  we  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but 
dawg'd  ef  yo'  hain't  got  to  vote  the  Democratic  ticket  or 
die.'° 

"  Mawstah,  I  hain't  got  no  ambition  agin  the  Democrats, 
but  I  can't  go  trapousin'  after  dem.     No,  sah!  " 

"Ileahhim!" 

"Pootynig!" 

"  Ongrateful  ole  dawg!  " 

"  Let's  hang  him." 

"  Let's  skin  him." 

"  Oh,  yer  can't,  hey?"  ' 

"No,  sah!  When  I  done  jine  the  'Publicans  I  hearn  de 
Democrat  pawty  were  waw  busted,  an'  I  done  hab  nuffin  ter 
do  wid  dem  sense." 

"  Well,  my  colored  angel,  you've  got  ter  reform.  Does 
yer  hear?     Reform!  " 

Reform  is  the  patent  coating  for  every  scoundrelism. 

Hearing  no  response  from  xlwk,  Pelter  asked  him  again. 

"  Awk,  if  we  let  up  on  you  will  you  promise  to  vote  the 
Democratic  ticket?" 

"No,  sah!" 

"  Would  you  rather  take  a  lickin'  ?  " 

*'  No,  sah  !  Hain't  I  a  free  man  ?  What  right  you  got  to 
lick  me  ?     My  old  mawstah  didn't  nebbah  do  dat." 

"  We'll  give  you  a  taste  to  see  how  it  goes." 

"  I  don't  want  none  o'  dat  foolin'." 

"There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  foolin'.  You've  had  too  much 
meat  an'  too  little  cuttin'  all  yer'n  born  days,  or  yer  wouldn't 
be  such  an  audacious  sassy  niggah  ! " 

"  I  ain't  sassy,  mawstah  !  Ef  I  is,  I  axes-pawdon,  sah.  My 
old  mawstah  done  fotch  me  up  with  mannahs,  sah  !  " 

"  Hear  the  niggah  !  " 

"  Oh,  ho  !  " 

"  Mannahs  !     'Hoop  !     Mannahs  !  " 

"  Better  nor  the  clown  in  a  circus  !  " 

"  Ebo  Shin  scraping  to  the  ladies  !  " 


282  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

These  are  samples  of  exclamations  that  flowed  from  the 
group  when  the  laugh  ceased. 

Pelter  raised  his  voice  above  the  din  : 

"  Jest  drop  yer  hoofs  in  the  path  and  come  'long." 

"  What  for,  mawstah  ?  " 

"  We're  gwan  to  lick  yer." 

"Oh,  no,  mawstah  !  You  haint  de  hawt  to  do  dat,  maws- 
tah. Wid  a  po'  ole  man.  Mo'an  seventy,  sah.  Mo'an  seventy 
yeahs — an'  moas  done  gone." 

"Ther'  haint  no  use  o'  gabblement  about  it  ;  you've  either 
got  to  vote  the  Democratic  ticket  or  take  a  lickin'." 

«  Yes,  sah  !  " 

"  Will  you  vote  the  Democratic  ticket  ?  " 

"  No,  sah." 

"  You  would  rather  be  licked  ?  " 

"  I'd  rader  die  fust,  sah  !     Yes,  sah,  I'd  rader  die  fust !  " 

At  this  point  Joe  Ratley  threw  his  halter  over  the  old  man's 
neck,  and  mounted  his  horse. 

In  an  instant  the  others  were  in  the  saddle,  and  trotted 
out  in  the  road,  compelling  their  aged  prisoner  to  run  be- 
side them. 

Down  the  road  into  the  edge  of  the  neighboring  forest. 

There  a  halt. 

Awk  was  stripped  of  his  night  clothes.  Stripped  to  nudity. 
Two  men  seized  his  arms.  They  drew  his  breast  against  a 
tree.  They  clasped  his  arms  about  it ;  and  then  tied  his 
wrists. 

Then  they  searched  about  among  the  low  lying  limbs  for 
long  lithe  rods. 

Deliberately  they  cut  them  off  and  trimmed  them  down, 
paring  off  the  soft  green  leaves  and  young  branches.  This 
was  but  the  work  of  a  few  moments.  Then  they  turned  to 
Plutarch.  Joe  Ratley  stood  first  by  his  side.  He  bent 
the  long,  strong  rod  he  held  in  his  right  hand,  to  test  its 
litheness. 

Under  the  soft,  clear  moonlight  that  stole  down  between 
the  trees,  jagged  points,  quite  half  an  inch  in  length,  were 
plainly  discernible  on  his  rod. 


283 

These  were  the  stumps  of  the  little  branches  cut  off. 

With  every  blow  of  his  rod  these  points  would  puncture 
like  daggers. 

They  would  tear  like  harrows. 

When  the  pliability  of  the  rod  was  tested,  Joe  stepped 
away  from  Plutarch  to  the  length  of  his  rod. 

He  raised  his  right  arm. 

His  right  hand  grasping  the  rod,  was  extended  above  and 
behind  his  head. 

His  left  side  was  facing  the  left  side  of  the  man  bound 
to  the   tree. 

His  breast  was  almost  parallel  with  Plutarch's  back. 

Joe's  body  swung  suddenly  round  toward  Plutarch. 

His  hand  and  arm  came  down  with  a  rush. 

The  rod  whistled  through  the  air. 

It  fell  upon  the  center  of  Plutarch's  back. 

The  keen  edge  of  the  rod  cut. 

Its  sharp  prongs  stabbed. 

The  rod  scorched. 

It  blistered. 

It  burned. 

A  long  wheal  sprang  into  being  across  Plutarch's  back. 

It  was  a  fungus  born  of  a  rod. 

The  tree  to  which  Plutarch  was  bound  was  small,  and  apart 
from  the  others. 

The  sky  above  was  cloudless. 

A  luminous  circle  girdled  the  tree. 

Within  the  circle  there  was  an  involuntary  writhing  of  Plu- 
tarch's back. 

Then  purple  drops  spurted  out. 

Joe  saw  them. 

He  roared  in  glee: 

"  Fust  blood,  by  dawg.     I  kin  fetch  it  ev'ry  lick." 

He  sprang  back  to  striking  position  and  raised  his  arm  ard 
hand  again. 

Pelter  cried  out,  "  Hold  on  Joe  !  " 

But  it  was  too  late. 

Joe's  eager  arm  fell. 


284  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

A  second  time  the  rod  whistled  through  tiie  air. 

A  second  wheal  grew  up  beside  the  first. 

Again  Plutarch's  back  shivered  as  if  he  had  been  smitten 
with  an  iceberg. 

That  was  the  first  effect  of  the  blow. 

It  was  a  biting  frost. 

It  chilled  him  to  the  marrow. 

His  flesh  shivered  under  it. 

Then  the  second  long  blister  sprang  into  life  beside  the 
first. 

The  blister  was  a  fagot. 

It  was  a  flame. 

It  was  a  consuming  fire. 

The  rod  was  a  bar  of  red  hot,  seething  iron  across  his  back. 

It  opened  new  fountains  of  blood. 

Big  drops  trickled  down  to  the  ground. 

Then  Pelter  spoke: 

"Look  heah,  Awk;  hain't  yer  had  enough?" 

"Yes,  mawstah!" 

The  words  trembled  from  his  lips. 

"You  don't  want  no  more  harryment?" 

"No  mawstah!" 

"Will. you  vote  the  Democratic  ticket?" 

"  No,  mawstah!" 

His  voice  was  strong  and  firm. 

"  You'd  rather  git  moah  lickin'?" 

"  I'd  rather  die,  mawstah,  dan  go  agin  de  pawty  ob  free- 
dom." 

His  torn  flesh  ceased  to  quiver, 

His  voice  burst  out  strong  and  clear. 

It  was  a  cry  of  exultation. 

It  quenched  the  ache  and  the  burn,  and  the  torture. 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  before  the  liissing  serpent 
in  Joe  Ratley's  hand,  with  its  lacerating  fangs,  whistled 
through  the  air  and  fell  upon  the  old  man's  back. 

Again. 

And  again.     With  the  passionate  energy  of  ignorant  hate. 

Blood  flowed  every  blow. 


*'IF    A    D NIG    VOTE    AGIN    US."  385 

Little  shreds  of  cuticle  and  flesh  clung  to  the  rod. 

Blood  trickled  down  in  little  streams. 

Ten  blows  Joe  Ratley  struck. 

Ten  blows  with  all  his  brutal  strength. 

Then  another  of  the  gang  interposed. 

"  Dawg  it,  Joe,  ye'r  gittin'  all  the  fun." 

Joe  was  pushed  aside. 

A  fresh  arm  was  raised. 

"Now,  boys,  see  me  hit  an  old  plantation  lick,  bitin' 
with  the  point." 

The  brute  seemed  to  measure  his  distance  from  Awk  with 
his  eye. 

He  drew  the  rod  quickly  through  his  left  hand. 

He  threw  his  right  hand  upward  and  backward. 

The  right  arm  fell  with  the  velocity  of  a  thunderbolt. 

The  rod  whizzed  through  the  air. 

The  point  of  the  rod  struck  Plutarch's  side. 

It  bit  like  a  hound. 

A  shred  of  flesh  flew  before  it. 

It  gashed  like  a  knife. 

A  stream  of  blood  spurted  out  after  it. 

The  crowd  ran  to  the  side  of  the  suiFerer. 

They  examined  the  gash. 

Then  they  exclaimed: 

"  Yo'  did,  by  dawg!  " 

"Drat  ef  'tain't  a  clean  Mick! '" 

"  Hain't  forgot,  hez  vo'?  " 

The  victim's  back  was  alive  with  motion. 

His  lips  were  sealed. 

His  mouth  was  dead. 

It  was  an  emulous  crowd. 

The  bite  blow  excited  their  admiration. 

They  tried  to  imitate. 

They  failed. 

And  the  man  who  "hadn't  forgot"  was  the  hero  of  the 
night. 

The  shower  of  blows  continued. 

It  was  a  storm  of  live  coals. 


286  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

When  fifty  blows  had  been  struck  Pelter  spoke  again. 

"  Awk,  hain't  yo'  had  all  yo'  want?" 

It  was  nearly  a  minute  before  Awk's  lips  opened. 

All  his  senses  except  feeling  were  numb. 

Sound  penetrated  his  soul,  but  slowly. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

His  voice  was  faint. 

His  words  almost  inaudible. 

"  Yaas,  mawstah!  " 

"  Will  you  vote  the  Democrat  ticket?" 

"  I'd-rader-die-fust- mawstah! " 

"Will  you  quit  the  dratted  rads?" 

"Dey's-de-pawty-ob-freedom-an'-'titled-to-ouah-reward 
-mawstah! " 

"You  won't  give  them  up,  drat  yo'! " 

"  I  can't,  mawstah;  I  can't  do  dat,  mawstah!  Dey's  de 
pawty  ob  freedom,  mawstah!" 

His  head  was  erect. 

His  voice  rang  out  like  a  clarion  on  the  calm  night  air. 

Unflinchingly  he  faced  laceration. 

Unawed  he  endured  rending. 

He  hung  undaunted  on  the  sj^it  of  wrath. 

It  was  grand. 

It  was  heroic. 

He  was  a  nineteenth  century  Huss. 

Awk  Trenhom  was  a  martyr. 

Again  the  scorching,  blistering,  tearing  storm  descended. 

Whiz!  whiz! 

Thud!  thud!. 

Blood  spattered  out. 

Shreds  of  flesh  followed  every  blow. 

Awk's  liead  dropped  over  against  the  tree. 

Whiz!   whiz! 

Thud!  thud! 

A  rain  of  blood  followed  every  blow. 

Awk's  head  hung  limp  over  his  shoulder. 

His  knees  bent  under  him. 

Whiz!  whiz! 


287 

His  knees  gave  way. 

Whiz!  whiz! 

Thud!  thud! 

The  weight  of  Awk's  body  rested  on  his  bound  hands  and 
arms. 

Whiz!  whiz! 

The- arms  slowly  slid  down  the  tree.. 

Whiz!   whiz! 

Pelter  spoke. 

"Will  yo'  give  up  the  rads?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

Whiz!  whiz! 

Again  Pelter  spoke. 

"Will  yo'  give  up  the  dratted  rads?" 

Awk  was  deaf  and  dumb. 

He  was  a  crouching,  horribly  mutilated  heap,  limp  as  a 
rag,  at  the  roots  of  the  tree. 

The  inquisitors  and  assassins  thought  he  was  dead.  They 
wiped  the  clots  and  splotches  of  blood  from  their  faces, 
brushed  off  the  spray  of  human  flesh  from  their  persons, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  rode  away  singing: 

'  If  you  wants  to  be  an  angel, 

And  with  the  angels  stand, 
Bring  niggahs  to  their  senses, 
With  a  hick'ry  in  your  hand." 


'ZSS  BRISTLING    WITH    TUOBXS. 


CHAPTER   XXVTII. 


On  the  day  following  the  outrage  by  the  Pelter  gang  upon 
Awk,  Mrs.  Trenhom  and  Mrs.  Huntley,  in  a  full  glory  of  rib- 
bons and  spotless  gloves,  drove  out  to  call  on  their  friends. 

First,  on  Mrs.  Shootfast. 

"  Not  at  home." 

Then,  on  Mrs.  Valore. 

"  Not  at  home." 

Then  to  a  dozen  other  places. 

*•  Not  at  home."     "  Not  at  home." 

These  three  little  words,  the  most  convenient  and  univer- 
sal of  society  lies,  became  quite  familiar  to  their  ears. 

What  did  it  mean? 

Then  they  remembered  the  Buzzer. 

*'  Surely  they  can  not  have  resolved  to  close  their  doors 
against,  us." 

"Against  me  !"  said  Mrs.  Trenhom,  with  emphasis  and 
some  anger. 

Even  very  gentle  people  will  be  angry  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

Mrs.  Huntley  alighted  at  the  post-office.  Mrs.  Trenhom 
drove  home. 

She  was  distressed. 

But  as  she  entered  the  house  she  instantly  saw  a  deeper 
distress  stamped  on  the  face  of  her  husband. 

"  What  is  it,  Walter  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  walked  across  the 
room  toward  him. 

Walter  walked  the  floor,  with  set  jaws  and  stern  eyes,  as 
men  sometimes  will  who  are  too  wrathful  to  turn  their  tongues 
loose. 


289 

There  are  men  wise  enough  to  know  that  an  angry  tongue 
is  a  wild  beast  which  needs  a  cage.  And  like  animals  in  a 
menagerie  they  pace  off  their  wrath  between  bars. 

"  Surely,"  continued  his  wife,  "  you  can  not  have  heard  of 
our  calling  already?     That  is  nothing,  dear." 

She  had  taken  his  arm,  and  was  walking  to  and  fro  by  his 
side,  looking  up  in  his  face. 

Trenhom  paused,  lifted  his  eyebrows  to  their  widest. 

"  Calling,  Lou  !  " 

"  Oh,  dear  !     I  thought  perhaps  you  knew." 

Then  he  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own  and  drew  her  to 
the  lounge  beside  him. 

"What  is  it,  Lou?" 

"  Nothing,  dear,  worthy  your  attention." 

"But  something  has  occurred?" 

Mrs.  Trenhom  hesitated.  Looking  earnestly  in  her  hus- 
band's eyes,  then  she  put  up  her  hands  and  passed  them  over 
his  cheeks. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask,  dear,  to-day — not  to-day — perhaps — per- 
haps there  is  a  mistake — some  mistake  and — I  fear  you  have 
trouble  enough  for  one  day." 

Then  a  recollection  of  the  Buzzer  article  came  to  Tren- 
hom. 

"Surely  it  can  be  nothing  about  the  Buzzer  vileness?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  dear." 

"A-a-h!  Is  it  pos-si-ble  !  They  have  refused  to  receive 
— you — you — my  wife  !  Your  father's  daughter  !  Your  own 
noble  self  !     Oh  !     No  !     That  can  not  be  !  " 

Mrs.  Trenhom  sat  silent,  a  slight  flush  came  into  her  face, 
a  moisture  in  her  eyes,  as  her  husband  again  clasped  both  of 
her  hands  in  his. 

"  Tell  me,  Lou  !     Tell  me  that  it  is  not  so  !  " 

"  I  fear  that  it  is,  Walter."  Then  she  narrated  the  events 
of  the  afternoon.  When  her  husband  heard  it  he  exclaimed 
in  broken  tones: 

"  Oh,  Lou  !  Lou  !  That  I  should  have  caused  you  this 
pain  !" 

"  I  do  not  think  it  pains  me  !  " 
19 


290  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  This  humiliation  !  " 

"It  certainly  is  not  that,  Walter." 

"  This  trouble,  then  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is  trouble.  But  they  can  not  humiliate  me,  Wal- 
ter. No  one  can  do  that  for  another.  Our  own  acts  are  the 
only  chariots  on  which  we  can  ride  into  the  valley  of  humilia- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  Lou  !     How  sorry,  sorry  I  am."  . 

"  Do  not  give  it  a  second  thought,  Walter.  We  could  be 
very  happy  alone  on  a  desert  island." 

"  But  to  be  surrounded  by  life-long  friends  who  refuse  to 
recognize  you." 

"It  is  tiieir  fault,  dear,  not  mine.  I  have  only  love  for 
them.  If  they  choose  to  return  it  with  hate  it  will  injure 
them  more  tlian  either  of  us." 

"  It  grieves  me  that  I  sliovdd  be  the  cause  of  it." 

"  Put  your  grief  away,  Walter.  So  long  as  you  are  doing 
your  duty,  walking  beside  your  conscience,  there  is  nothing  to 
grieve  about." 

"  And  you  are  satisfied?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  more  than  satisfied.  If  I  were  a  man  I  would 
try  to  do  as  you  are  doing,"  and  she  drewhis  face  down  to  her 
and  kissed  it. 

"Thank  you!" 

"  I  am  happy  in  the  belief  that  you  are  doing  your  duty  to 
your  country,  and  though  you  may  fail,  the  work  you  have 
begun  can  not.  It  will  result  in  a  more  perfect  freedom  and 
greater  happiness  to  the  people." 

"  Let  us  hope  so.'* 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  Walter.  The  scood  God  is  marchins:  the 
race  forward.  The  ignorance  and  superstition  of  the  past  and 
the  prejudices  that  grow  out  of  them,  may  scatter  thistles  and 
sow  thorns  in  the  path,  but  neither,  dear,  are  a  permanent 
obstruction  to  the  truth." 

"Ah,  Lou  I     You  were  always  hopeful." 

"  And  you,  Walter,  always  honest  and  doing  your  duty  as 
you  came  to  see  it.  That  knowledge  is  better  to  me  than  all 
friendships,  no  matter  how  close." 


THE    COAT    DONE    BRUSH'd.  293 

"I  am  very  glad." 

"  But  did  you  not  hear  of  it  before  I  entered  ?  " 

"  No,  Lou." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  did." 

"  No  I " 

"  But  you  were  troubled  about  something." 

"  Yes  !     Greatly  !     Deeply  !  " 

"What  is  it,  Walter?" 

"  An  outrage  !  " 

"  Outrage  ?  " 

"  A  horrible  outrage  !  " 

"On  whom?" 

"  Poor  old  Awk  !  " 

'  No  !  No  ! "  Mrs.  Trenhom  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her 
eyes  blazed  with  excitement.  "When?  Where?  How?  By 
whom,  Walter  ?  "  ^ 

"  At  his  home,  last  night,  by  masked  men." 

"Ah  !  "     She  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"Injured?" 

"  Fearfully  !  " 

"How?"" 

"  With  rods  !  " 

*'  Merciful  heavens  !  "  Wringing  her  hands  and  weeping. 
"  Where  is  he  ?     Dear  old  Awk  !  " 

"  Yes  !     Dear  old  Awk  !  " 

"  To  beat  so  aged  a  man  !  " 

"  It  was  barbarous  !  " 

"And  severely  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  cruel,  horrible  laceration  !  " 

"  Where  is  he  ?     I  mu:^t  2^0  to  him  !  " 

"I  had  him  brought  here.  He  is  up-stairs.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment and  w-e  will  go  up." 

"  When  did  you  hear  of  it  ?  " 

"A  few  moments  after  you  rode  out.  Some  colored  pen. 
pie  discovered  him  bound  to  a  tree,  and  knowing  that  he  had 
been  one  of  our  servants,  brought  him  here." 

"  And  poor  Awk,  did  he  not  desire  to  come  ?  " 

"  He  was  insensible  !  " 


•rt\):l  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOKXS. 


"Oh  !  "     More  hand-wrinfrinor. 


"  Has  he  yet  come  to  ?  " 

»  No  !  " 

Mrs.  Trenhom  started  toward  the  door, 

"  Wait  a  little,  Lou,  until  his  wounds  are  dressed,  and  we 
will  go  to  him  ;  they  are  not  fit  for  you  to  look  at." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  shuddered  as  she  asked  — 

"  Have  you  seen  them  ?  " 

The  strong  man  raised  his  hands  before  his  eyes. 

"  Good  heavens,  yes  !  And  I  never  want  to  look  upon 
such  a  sight  again.  It  was  sickening  !  sickening  !  I  have 
seen  mutilation  on  the  battlo-aeld  !  I  witnessed  the  disfig- 
urements, the  trunkation,  the  horrors  of  four  years  of  bloody 
war,  but  I  never  saw  anything  so  dreadful,  dreadful  at  this." 

*'  Oh  !  oh  !  Poor  Awk  !  Dear,  faithful  old  Awk  !  I 
must  go  to  him  ! " 

"Ashe  is  ?" 

"He  is  our  dear,  faithful  old  friend — faithful  old  Awk, 
and  I  must  goto  him." 

"  Can  you  endure  it  ?  " 

"  I  must,  Walter  !  I  will !  Dear!  Dear,  faithful  old 
friend  !     He  would  not  stay  away  from  us  one  minute." 

Followed  by  her  husband,  she  hurried  to  the  room  where 
Plutarch  Trenhom  lay,  suffering,  moaning,  and  insensible. 

The  wounds  on  the  lower  part  of  his  body  were  already 
dressed. 

But  Mrs.  Trenhom  saw  the  laceration  from  the  center  of 
his  back  to  the  neck. 

When  she  first  looked  on  the  shocking  mutilation,  she  shud- 
dered and  tottered. 

Her  husband  reached  out  his  arms. 

Then  she  walked  steadily  up  to  the  bed  and  gave  assist- 
ance. 

With  soft  and  gentle  touch  she  aided  in  applying  lotions 
and  bandages  until  the  binding  was  complete. 

Then  she  sat  down  by  the  bedside. 

She  was  the  first  object  that  Awk  looked  on  when  he 
opened  his  eyea. 


THE    COAT    DONE    BRUSh'd.  293 

"Deah  Miss  Lou!" 

"Yes,  my  poor  old  friend!" 

"An'  Maws  Walt!" 

"Here,  Awk,"  said  Walter,  stepping  to  the  bedside. 

"  1  moas  can't  see  you,  mawstah." 

Walter  bended  lower  over  him. 

"Ah!"  continued  the  old  man.  "  Yis,  dat's  you,  Maws 
Walt.  I  nussed  you  when  a  chile.  An'  yer  ain't  gwan  ter 
t'orgit  yo'  old  Awk." 

"  No,  uncle,  never  in  this  world." 

"An'  Miss  Lou!     You'll  remembah  de  ole  man?" 

She  bent  over  him  and  pressed  her  lips  against  his  black 
and  wrinkled  cheek. 

"  My  poor  old  friend! " 

The  old  man's  eyes  lighted  up. 

"You'ze  alius  good,  honey.  Alius  good,  honey!  Dat's 
like  de  breflf  ob  de  angels!" 

"  Poor  Awk,  you'll  be  spared  to  us  to  take  care  of." 

"No,  honey;  de  ole  man's  moas  done  gone, — moas  done 
gone.  I'ze  gittin'  up  to  de  lass  hill  in  de  row,  honey.  Yes, 
moas  dah,  honey!  De  coat  moas  brush!  moas  done  brush, 
honey."  He  paused  a  moment  for  breath.  "Honey!  Put  yo' 
face  down  to  de  ole  man  once  moa!    One  time  moa,  honey!" 

Mrs.  Trenhom's  lips  dropped  down  on  his  cheeks. 

She  kissed  him. 

The  tears  rained  down  upon  his  cheek. 

A  smile  played  upon  the  old  man's  lips. 

"Dat's  de  breff  ob  heabin,  honey.  Heabin,  honey.  I'll 
tell  yo'  muddah,  up  dere!  Dat  I  will,  chile.  Good  chile — 
deah  honey!  I'll  tell  yo'  angel  muddah  up  dere!  De — coat — 
done — brush!" 

And  Awk — slave  and  freeman — had  left  his  seventy  years 
of  toil  and  suffering- behind  him. 

While  Walter  Trenhom  and  his  wife  were  looking  tear- 
fully down  upon  the  lifeless  remains  of  Plutarch,  another 
scene  was  transpiring  in  the  post-office. 

Mrs.  Erma  Cartier  entered  it,  heavily  veiled,  looked,  dis- 
covered the  front  office   vacant,  and  hurried  through  to  the 


294  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

private  room  of  Mrs.  Kate  Huntley,  Yankee  and  postmis- 
tress. 

Seeing  her,  Erma  Cartier  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 

"  Dear  Kitty,  you  are  not  angry  with  me?" 

"I!"  replied  Kate,  rising  and  looking  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  It  would  break  my  heart,  Kitty.     Indeed  it  would." 

"I  don't  understand,  dear!" 

"Oh!  I  was  at  home.     Indeed  I  was." 

Mrs.  Huntley  was  surprised,  and  she  looked  it. 

"  But!"  continued  her  excited  visitor,  "I  couldn't  help  it. 
Indeed  I  couldn't.  They  have  all  resolved.  It  is  so  shameful. 
But  I  can't  help  myself,  dear." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  responded  Mrs.  Huntley,  soothingly. 

"Oh!  please,  Kitty,  remember,  no  matter  what  comes,  I 
shall  love  you  always,  always,  dearly.  I  can  never  forget  that 
your  husband  saved  mine.  But  for  his  heroism  my  Dale  would 
be  dead!  dead!  and  I  with  him." 

"But  your  husband?" 

"Oh,  Kitty!  He  remembers,  too.  He  does.  Indeed  he 
does!  But  what  can  he  do?  They  are  all  set.  All!  All!  And 
it  is  so  shameful!" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is  shameful." 

"You  won't  blame  me,  dear.  I  shall  never  love  you  any 
the  less.  Nothing  can  change  that.  But  I  am  so  helpless. 
Dale  says  I  must  not  come  and  I  must  not  receive  you  in  my 
home.  Oh,  dear!  I  have  cried  all  night  about  it.  And  Hal 
saved  his  precious  life.  And  I  can't  quarrel  with  Dale.  It 
would  kill  me  if  he  was  angry  with  me." 

"  If  your  husband  directs  it,  there  is  nothing  for  you, 
dear,  but  compliance,"  responds  Kate,  slowly. 

"And  you  will  not  put  me  out  of  your  heart?" 

"No,  dear!" 

"And  you  will  kiss  me?" 

Erma  opened  her  arms. 

The  oijier  woman  entered  them. 

Erma  clung  to  her,  kissed  her  passionately,  again  and 
again,  drew  down  her  veil,  and  walked  away. 

The  storm  had  burst  over  Slimpton. 


POST   OAKS  AND    HICKORIES.  295 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


POST    OAKS    AND    HICKORIES. 


The  issue  of  the  Slimpton  Buzzer  following  the  inhuman 
scourging  and  death  of  Plutarch  Trenhora  gave  its  version  of 
it.     It  made  use  of  the  torture  and  tragedy  as  new  fuel  to  the 


rising  flame. 


*'  We  have  warned  our  people,"  so  read  the  Buzzer,  "  and 
there  were  many  who  thought  our  alarm  unfounded.  We 
have  had  most  reliable  information  that  the  abolition  radicals 
in  the  land  of  hickory  hams  and  wooden  nutmegs  have  raised 
a  laro^e  sum  of  monev  to  arm  the  nig^g^ers  of  the  South.  This 
means  outrage  and  murder,  and  they  intend  it  as  such.  We 
have  proof  that  five  hundred  guns  have  already  been  sent  to 
this  county,  and  that  more  are  coming.  And  their  cut-throat 
emissaries  are  now  here  drilling  the  incendiary  niggers  and 
organizing  them  for  masked  maraudings  against  the  lives  and 
property  of  our  peaceable  citizens.  Only  three  nights  ago  a 
band  of  these  masked  niggers  attacked  an  old  black  man 
named  Awk  Trenhom.  Many  of  our  citizens  will  perhaps  re- 
member him.  And  what  was  his  crime.  Men  of  the  South, 
think  of  it.  Men  who  wore  the  gray,  let  it  sink  in  your  hearts. 
The  old  man  had  declared  he  was  done  with  Radicalism. 
Yes!  That  was  it  !  He  was  going  to  vote  for  reform;  for 
law  and  order;  for  the  Democratic  ticket,  and  a  lot  of  scoun- 
drelly niggers  dragged  him  from  his  home  in  the  dead  of  night 
and  beat  him  to  death.  But  behind  them — mark  you  it  is  only 
a  whisper  so  far — we  await  proofs  before  asserting — it  is  al- 
leged is  one  who  by  reason  of  the  past  ought  to  have  stood 
by  the  old  man,  if  necessary  laid  down  his  life  for  him,  it  is 
alleged  that  this  man,  learning  that  Awk  was  about  to  spurn 
Radicalism  and  all  its  kindred  diabolism,  prompted  his  taking 


296  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

off.  Friends  and  countrymen,  and  comrades  of  the  gray,  how 
long  shall  we  submit?  To  this  complexion  it  has  come  at  last. 
How  long  shall  we  submit?  Post  oaks  and  hickories  are  hung 
with  mast  that  is  good  for  hogs.  A  good  crop  of  niggers,  car- 
pet-baggers and  scallawags  on  post  oaks  and  hickories  would 
be  good  for  buzzards  and — Mississippi.  How  is  that  for 
high?"* 

The  Awk  Trenhom  tragedy  removed  a  calm  and  command- 
ing influence  from  the  negro  councils,  and  in  the  Buzzer  set- 
ting it  deepened  the  excitement  of  the  public  mind. 

It  was  crafty. 

And  it  prepared  the  people  to  hear  of  other  outrages  and 
to  approve  of  any  retaliatory  measures. 

Among  the  old  Confederates  it  dispersed  dissent. 

If  there  was  any  hostility  to  the  use  of  force  it  disap- 
peared. 

If  there  was  any  doubt  of  unanimity  in  favor  of  violence, 
it  fled  away. 

The  men  who  prepared  for  the  lightning  did  it  wnth 
skill. 

A  military  company  was  openly  organized,  with  Major 
Dale  Cartier  in  command,  to  protect  the  people. 

And  the  "  1900  "  went  forward  with  their  work. 

The  first  act  of  brutality  was  to  them  a  mere  whetting  of 
appetite     A  "  nip  "  before  lunch. 

Some  men  are  born  brutal. 

As  children  they  stick  pins  in  bugs  and  worms,  and  gloat 
over  their  convulsions  and  witherinjrs. 

With  the  mass  brutality  is  a  growth. 

At  first  it  shocks. 

Then  they  grow  to  it  as  medical  students  do  to  the  loath- 
someness of  the  dissecting  room. 

As  men  who  work  among  rotting  bones  and  villainous 
smells  come  to  like  the  fetid  vapors. 

The  lash  and  the  bloodhound  are  not  humanizers. 

Those  of  the  "  1000  "  who  grew  up  beside  these  adjuncts 
of  Southern  civilization  were  already  hardened. 

•  A  fact. 


POST   OAKS   AND    HICKORIES.  297 

Their  feelings  were  lono^  af?o  annealed  in  the  furnace  of 
cruelty. 

The  younger — those  who  grew  up  since  the  war — were  less 
savage. 

But  there  was  sure  matriculation  in  lashino^  and  lookino^  on. 

Brutality  witnessed  and  assented  to  is  a  corrosive  in  the 
bowels  of  mercy. 

Soon  the  younger  had  no  more  bowels  than  the  older. 

Night  after  night  they  rode  the  county,  first  this  way  then 
that. 

Joe  Ratley  was  always  with  this  command. 

Free  whisky  and  wol loping  niggahs  were  irresistible  at- 
tractions to  Joe. 

After  his  second  niorht's  ride  he  carried  home  his  discruise. 

In  the  morning  Lindy  saw  it. 

She  had  already  heard  of  poor  old  Awk. 

She  turned  the  black  calico  robe  and  mask  with  its  peep- 
holes over  and  over. 

At  length  it  dawned  upon  her  what  they  were. 

Then  she  rolled  them  up  and  walked  toward  the  open  fire- 
place. 

Joe  saw  the  movement. 

"Heah  !  what  yer  at?" 

Lindy  held  the  parcel  out  before  her  with  one  hand. 

Held  it  out  as  if  it  was  some  foul  thing  she  disdained  to 
touch. 

With  the  other  hand  she  raked  the  glowing  coals  and 
stirred  the  fire. 

"  Let  be,  yer  heah!     Let  be!  " 

The  fire  was  glowing,  and  Lindy  dropped  the  parcel  in  its 
center. 

Joe  rushed  toward  the  fire. 

Lindy  faced  about  and  looked  at  him. 

Joe  paused,  looked,  then  burst  out. 

"  Them  costs  a  heap." 

The  same  soft,  even  tones  that  murmured  to  him  when  he 
lay  bound  on  the  floor,  answered  back: 

"I  reckon,  but  they  ain't  healthy  here,  Joe." 


2U8  KISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

"  Ain't  a  fellar  to  have  no  fun  wi'  the  niggahs?" 

"The  best  fun  1  know  of  would  be  to  work  honest  as  they 
do,  and  let  them  alone." 

*'  Oh,  drat  it!  " 

"  Best  not  swear,  Joe! " 

"I  don't  like  nigs  no  how." 

"No,  Joe,  nor  nothing  honest." 

"Nice  woman  you  be  to  tell  3"our  man  he  hain't  honest." 

"I  ain't  good  at  words,  Joe,  and  I  must  say  things  as  I  see 
them.  But  if  I  was  a  niggah  T  think  I  would  kill  you, 
Joe." 

A  little  color,  a  little  shading,  a  little  raging  in  the  voice 
would  have  suited  Joe. 

The  words  of  years  had  been  running  down  into  the  hollow 
of  his  mind  and  dammed  up. 

If  there  was  but  an  opportunity  for  them  to  work  out. 

But  what  chance  was  there  against  this  dispassionate 
music? 

None. 

And  Joe  was  afraid — he  never  said  it  to  himself  in  words, 
but  he  was  afraid  of  this  woman. 

Cowards  always  tremble  in  the  presence  of  the  unintel- 
ligible. 

Without  further  words  he  turned  away. 

That  night  he  rode  with  Captain  Pelter. 

He  did  every  night. 

But  he  found  no  entrance  to  his  cabin  late  in  the  night. 

The  door  was  sealed  against  him. 

When  he  rode  late  at  night  he  was  compelled  to  sleep  in 
the  corn  crib. 

But  Joe  rode  and  came  to  be  recognized  as  one  of  the 
most  devoted  of  his  country's  purifiers. 

The  second  night  after  the  Awk  Trenhom  alTair  they  took 
a  prominent  young  colored  man  from  his  cabin. 

They  charged  him  witli  being  one  of  the  murderers  of 
Awk. 

Yes! 

They  had  positive  evidence,  so  they  said. 


POST    OAKS   AND    HICKORIES.  299 

He  protested  his  innocence — protested  against  the  vio- 
lence. 

They  took  him  to  a  grove  and  sat  in  mock  judgment  over 
him. 

"You  shall  have  a  fair  trial  it  that's  what  you  want.  Here, 
you  can  pick  out  twelve  of  us.  Be  tried  if  you  will  by  a  jury 
of  twelve  of  your  honest,  intelligent  countrymen." 

The  colored  man  picked  the  twelve. 

Pelter,  in  mask,  sat  as  judge. 

Pelter  called  the  witnesses,  one  two,  three,  four. 

Each  man  answered  to  his  number. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  this  charge?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  know  all  about  it.  Saw  the  prisoner  take  Awk 
away  from  home;  heard  his  threats;  followed  him  to  the 
woods,  heard  the  blows;  became  frightened;  ran  away;  after 
wards  saw  Awk  dead." 

Each  witness  told  the  same  tale. 

The  black  man  questioned  and  pleaded. 

Judge  Pelter  charged  the  jury. 

The  mock  jury  decided, 

"  Guilty." 

Sentence  of  the  court: 

"  One  hundred  lashes  on  the  bare  back,  well  laid  on." 

The  sentence  was  executed  promptly. 

That  was  the  biggest  fun  of  all. 

"  Better  ner  a  camp  meetin'." 

So  said  they,  every  one. 

And  they  rode  away  from  their  torn  and  lacerated  victim 
in  high  glee. 

On  the  way  home  they  met  two  colored  men  walking  in 
the  road. 

"  Niggers  no  business  out  that  time  of  night." 

'•As  we  waltz  by  let's  fire." 

"Agreed!" 

They  plunged  spurs  into  their  horses'  flanks. 

As  they  galloped  past  the  negroes  they  fired. 

One,  Jeff  Gregory,  was  shot  through  the  bowels,  and  died 
three  days  after  in  great  agony. 


300  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

The  other,  Hugh  Gregory,  had  both  legs  broken.* 

The  moaning  and  agony  hiy  in  the  road. 

The  "  1900  "  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  filling  the  air 
with  their  huzzahs  and  oaths. 

"Oh!  Cap'en,  hole  on!" 

It  was  Joe  that  shouted  from  the  middle  of  the  column. 

"  Yan's  the  cabin  of  the  niggah  preachah;  he  swawrs  he's 
gwan  ter  vote  the  rad  ticket  shoa'.     Let's  give  him  a  histe." 

Then  the  })arty  whirled  up  the  lane  and  paused  before  the 
cabin  door. 

"Hello!  Hello!" 

"Hello!     Come  out  here!" 

The  door  opened.     An  aired  colored  man  stood  in  the  gap. 

"  Does  you  want  me,  friends." 

"Friends!" 

"How  mitey  polite!" 

"Bully  for  ole  Hallelujah!" 

"I  say,  daddy,  are  you  goin'  to  vote  the  radical  ticket?" 

"That's  my  conscience,  sah!  " 

"  You've  got  to  vote  the  Democrat  ticket  whole  hog  this 
time." 

"  I'd  like  to  obleege  white  gentlemen,  sah  !  But  I  can't 
do  that." 

"  You're  a  drat  fool  !  " 

"  I  have  only  such  sense,  sah,  as  my  Lord  and  Master  gave 
me  sah." 

"  If  you  vote  tlie  Radical  ticket  you're  a  dead  man,  sure  !  " 

"  If  it's  the  Lord's  will,  I  am  satisfied,  sah  !  " 

"  You'll  go  dead  as  sure  as  shootin'." 

"  I  will  have  to  die,  then,  for  I  must  do  my  duty  as  I  see 
it,  sah,  and  vote  the  Republican  ticket." 

The  last  sentence  had  not  passed  his  lips  ])efore  there  was 
a  flash,  and  sharp  report. 

The  old  man  staggered  on  to  the  beaten  ground  in  front 
of  his  cabin. 

It  was  Joe  Ratley  who  did  the  dastardly  act. 

There  was  another  flash  and  report. 

•A  fact. 


POST    OAKS    AND    HICKORIES.  301 

An  asred  colored  woman  tottered  to  the  door  in  her  nio-ht 
dress. 

"  Keep  back,  there  !  "  shouted  one  of  the  maskers,  "  or  I'll 
blow  your  black  liead  off  !  " 

The  woman  saw  her  husband  before  her. 

He  had  fallen  to  his  knees. 

His  hands  uplifted  in  devotion. 

She,  too,  threw  up  her  hands  and  lifted  her  voice. 

*'  Oh  !  my  blessed  Lord  !     Oh  !  my  blessed  Jesus  ! 

Flash !     Flash  !     Flash  !     Bano-  !     Bano; !     Bano;  !" 

o  o  o 

Slowly  the  kneeling  man  fell  over  on  his  side. 

Fifteen  shots  were  fired,  g.nd  he  still  lay  writhing,  a  tor- 
tured worm  on  the  hard  earth. 

The  woman's  cries  rose  above  the  din,  penetrating  the 
heavens. 

''Oh  !  my  merciful  Lord  !     My  merciful  Jesus  !  " 

One  of  the  men  dismounted,  and  seeing  that  the  colored 
man  yet  lived,  he  detached  the  powder  horn  from  his  side  and 
pushed  it  under  the  dying  preacher's  head. 

Then  he  placed  a  long  strip  of  paper  in  the  open  mouth  of 
the  full  powder  horn. 

He  ignited  the  paper  and  sprang  back  from  it.* 

The  paper  burned  slowly. 

The  blaze  approached  the  nozzle  of  the  horn. 

It  touched  it. 

There  was  a  loud  explosion. 

Bones,  flesh,  and  slime  of  brain  were  scattered  upon  the 
earth  and  the  walls  of  the  cabin. 

Tlie  woman  in  the  doorway  had  been  held  back  from  her 
husband. 

As  the  explosion  filled  her  horrified  ears  she  threw  up  her 
hands,  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  mortal  agony,  ^'Oh,  my  God  !" 

The  men  who  held  her  released  their  clutch. 

She  tottered  out  of  the  doorway,  and  fell  forward  prostrate 
on  her  face. 

On  the  morrow  passers-by  found  the  two,  the  aged  preacher 
and  his  wife,  lying  prone  on  the  earth  before  the  cabin  door. 

And  they  were  dead. 

♦  A  fact,  as  testified  to  by  John  Culpepper. 


302  BRISTLING    AVITH    THORNS. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE     TIDE     OF     PASSION. 

Little  pots  boil  quick. 

Sliinpton  was  in  an  uproar. 
•  The  outrages  committed  were  known  and  magnified. 

Tlieu  followed  charge  and  counter  charge. 

Affirmation  and  denial. 

'*  It  was  the  whites  who  did  it,"  said  one. 

"  It  was  the  blacks,"  said  another. 

Words  are  bellows  to  the  coals  of  anger. 

Stronor  words  whirled  throus-h  the  town  and  fanned  the 
excitement  into  a  flame. 

If  any  of  the  whites  were  shocked  in  the  morning,  at  night 
the  number  who  failed  to  approve  were  few 

When  Valore  heard  of  the  murder  of  the  colored  preacher, 
he  was  wrathful. 

"  Knew  the  old  man  !  Honest  !  Inoffensive  !  The  per- 
petrators of  the  crime  ought  to  be  punished." 

The  knowing  ones  turned  upon  Valore. 

Line  upon  line.  Fact  after  fact.  Coined  for  the  purpose, 
of  course.  At  first  he  doubted.  Then  he  was  shaken.  Then 
convinced.  He  believed,  as  he  was  assured,  that ''the  out- 
rage was  the  work  of  masked  negroes,  who  killed  the  old  man 
to  prevent  him  from  voting  the  Democratic  ticket." 

He  came  into  town  fuming  against  white  ruffians. 

He  went  home  raging  against  Republican  brutality. 

As  the  days  rolled  on  the  excitement  grew. 

In  the  furnace  of  words  it  intensified  into  passion. 

Then  came  the  Buzzer,  charging  all  the  outrages  upon  the 
Republicans,  calling  for  organization  and  arms,  denouncing 
Yankees,  denouncing  Southern  renegades. 


THE    TIDE    OF    PASSION.  303 

The  conclusion  of  the  article  was  this : 

''  Every  man  in  this  community,  yea,  every  white  man  in  the 
State,  should  be  prepared  for  the  emergency.  You  and  your 
family's  welfare  demand  this  of  you.  It  is  too  late  when  the 
hour  arrives,  to  see  if  your  guns  and  pistols  and  arms  are  in 
place.  Is  your  powder  dry?  Are  your  caps  sure  to  explode? 
A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient.  Do  not  permit  your  ener- 
gies to  be  repressed  by  well-meant  appeals  to  what  is  called 
moderation.  Moderation  means  apathy.  And  apathy  means 
defeat  and  death.  No  victory  was  ever  won  by  moderation. 
Don't  be  intimidated  by  talk  of  the  Federal  army.  The  man 
who  talks  of  this  army  is  a  traitor.  Spot  him.  They  can  not 
and  dare  not  use  it  against  us.  We  learn  that  some  Yankees 
among  us  loudly  talk  of  it ;  that  they  threaten  to  call  in  the 
army  for  their  protection.  If  they  need  an  army,  let  them  go 
where  the  army  is.  '  There  have  always  been  too  many  dogs 
in  this  country,  and  since  the  surrender  we  have  had  an  influx 
of  the  Puritan  breed  that  is  very  annoying.  Shot-guns  are 
best  to  use  on  this  breed.  Pimps,  purps  and  Puritans  had 
better  hunt  their  holes  if  they  don't  want  to  be  skinned 
alive.'"* 

The  article  was  exciting. 

It  was  oil  to  fire. 

But  in  another  part  of  the  paper  were  a  few  words  in 
strong  lines  that  created  an  even  profounder  agitation. 

Advertisements  are  usually  dry  reading. 

They  lack  the  yeasting  power  for  a  ferment. 

This  advertisement  was  an  exception. 

The  words  were  few  and  simple,  but  they  were  yeast  in  the 
Slimpton  mind. 

These  were  the  words: 

COTTON  MILL  FOR  SALE. 
The  Slimpton  Cotton  Mills, 

one  of  the 

Best  Appointed  in  the  State, 

Will  be  positively  closed  on  Saturday,  and 

WILL   BE  SOLD   WITHIN   THIRTY  DAYS. 
♦Brandon,  Miss.,  Republican. 


304  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

If  not  sold  then  the  machinery  will  be  removed  and  the  building  and 
mill-site  will  be  offered  for  sale. 
Terms  Cash  or  exchange  for  Northern  property  only. 

Jonathan  Seekpeace,  Proprietor. 

Men  read  the  advertisement  and  looked  at  each  otiier. 

"  My  Gawd  !  they  hain't  goin'  to  shet  the  mills  be  they?  " 

A  committee  was  appointed. 

The  great  American  engine  never  moves  without  a  com- 
mittee on  the  fire-box. 

The  committee  put  their  heads  together,  appointed  a  chair- 
man and  walked  over  to  the  office  of  the  mills. 

The  proprietor  saw  them. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen." 

"  Mawnin'." 

"  How'de." 

"Hum  !     Hum  !  "  began  Shootfast;  he  was  the  chairman. 

"  Mr.  Seekpeace,  we  have  seen  an  advertisement." 

*'  Yes,  want  to  buy  ?  " 

"We?" 

"  Yes,  you  say  you  saw  the  advertisement  and  called.  Sup- 
posed you  desired  to  purchase.     Good  property  !  " 

"  No  !  It  is  not  quite  in  our  way,  Mr.  Seekpeace,  and  I 
think  perhaps  if  it  was  we  would  have  some  difficulty  in  rais- 
ing the  necessary  money  ! " 

"  Ah  !  Then  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me.  I  am  very  busy 
perfecting  arrangements  to  close  down  on  Saturday." 

"  That  is  what  we  came  to  talk  about." 

"There  is  nothing  to  talk  about,  gentlemen,  unless  you  are 
prepared  to  purchase." 

"  But  we  don't  want  the  mill  to  close." 

"  Ah  !     Is  it  my  property,  or  yours?" 

"  Yours,  of  course  !     Yours,  of  course,  sah  !  " 

"  Then,  gentlemen,  I  claim  the  right  to  manage  it  as  shall 
suit  my  own  convenience  and  interests." 

"But  every  gentleman  owes  something  to  the  community 
in  which  he  lives." 

"And  what  may  that  be,  sir?" 

"Not  needlessly  to  throw  laborers  out  of  emplo^Muent,  to 


THE   TIDE   OF    PASSION.  305 

close   a  good   market  against  producers,  or  to  diminish  the 
money  the  business  puts  in  circulation." 

"Why,  judge,  I  thought  you  were  opposed  to  mills  and 
new  fangled  improvements." 

"In  the  abstract,  I  am;  for  myself,  yes;  but  this  one  is 
quite  different;  quite  different,  sah;  it  is  of  great  value  to  the 
community." 

"  Then  judge,  I  hope  the  community  will  buy  it." 

*'  You  surely  are  not  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  judge,  I  am  !  " 

"  And  if  not  sold  you  will  remove  the  machinery  ?" 

"  I  positively  will." 

"  I  supposed  it  was  a  profitable  investment." 

"It  has  been  so." 

"And  has  it  ceased?  " 

"  Find  me  a  purchaser  and  I  will  convince  him  in  one 
hour  it  never  was  so  profitable  as  it  is  to-day." 

"  Singular,  sah  !  Singular  !  I  think  I  express  the  senti- 
ments of  all  the  committee.  We  do  not  understand  that." 
The  committee  nodded. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  offensive,  gentlemen,  but  I  do  not 
think  it  is  necessary  you  should  understand." 

The  committee  opened  their  eyes.  "  But,"  continued  the 
mill-owner,  "asyouare  here  I  will  say  this  to  you:  You,  judge, 
said  something  of  the  duty  a  man  owes  to  the  community  in 
which  he  lives." 

Shootfast  nodded.  Mr.  Seekpeace  continued:  "  Did  you 
ever  consider  the  duty  the  community  owes  to  a  man  and  his 
family?" 

"  To  protect  !     To  protect  them,  of  course  !  " 

"Yes.  More  than  that;  to  treat  them  as  beings  of  feeling 
and  affections." 

"  Have  not  you  and  your  family  always  been  treated  with 
courtesy?" 

"  By  you,  judge,  yes.     By  some  others,  yes.    By  the  ladies 

of  your  family,  no.     By  your  ministers,  no.     My  family  attend 

church  regularly.     The  adult  members  of  my  family  belong  to 

church.     I  have  lived  here  eight  years.     During  that  time  my 

20 


3U15  BRI6TLI.VG    WITH    TIIOKNS. 

wife  has  been  sick  nigh  unto  death,  and  children  have  been 
born  to  nie;  and  no  minister  of  the  gospel  has  ever  crossed  my 
threshokl." 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  Some  of  our  ministers  have  not  for- 
gotten. The  weak  and  non-combatants  always  clierish  bitter- 
ness  the  longest.  But  surely  our  ladies  have  a  right  to  select 
their  own  friendships." 

"  Undoubtedly  they  have.  I  only  speak  of  it  to  show  how 
far  the  community  has  had  regard  to  our  feelings  and  affec- 
tions." 

"  And  have  you  determined  to  sell  because  of  this?" 

"Not  at  all.  1  have  jogged  on  eight  years  making  money 
and  content  to  wait  for  improvement.  The  articles  in  the 
Buzzer  and  the  sentiment  in  the  community  convinces  me 
they  are  striding  backward  instead  of  forward." 

"Oh,  that! "^ 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  that!" 

/'Surprised!  Surprised!  Surely  you  do  not  take  offence 
at  that?" 

"  At  the  Buzzer  articles  and  the  applause  that  follows 
them?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  sah!  They  are  not  aimed  at  you.  They 
don't  mean  you." 

*'  Do  you  not  see  that  we  Northern  people  are  called 
thieves  and  dogs?" 

"Oh,  yes;  we  read  them,  certainly." 

"  And  approve?" 

"In  a  general  way.  In  a  general  way,  of  course.  But,  my 
dear  sah,  you  surprise  us.  That  don't  mean  you;  not  at  all. 
Not  at  all,  sah.  We  make  an  exception  of  you.  Yes,  sah; 
we  make  an  exception  of  you." 

"  I  am  a  Northern  man  and,  during  the  war,  a  loyal  man." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  sah.  But  you  are  one  of  us  now,  an3 
we  have  the  more  respect  for  you  because  you  were  true  to 
your  section.  For  myself,  I  say  it  openly,  I  despise  traitors 
to  their  people.  North  or  South." 

"No,  gentlemen;  I  am  not  one  of  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are,  sah.     So  are  all   Northern  men  who 


THE    TIDE    OF    PASSION.  307 

come  here  to  attend  to  their  business.    It  is  only  the  kiawpet- 
bagg-ahs.     Yes,  sah,  the  kiawpet-baggahs  who  are  not  of  us." 

"  Yet  many  of  our  own  leading  people  are  carpet-baggers." 

"  We  refer  to  politicians." 

"I  mean  them  too.  Some  of  your  own  leading  politicians 
are  from  Georgia  and  Alabama. 

"True,  sah.  But  those  are  Southern  States,  and  the 
people  who  come  from  them  Southern  men.  Of  course  they 
are  not  kiawpet-baggahs.  By  kiawpet-baggahs,  we  mean  the 
radicals  from  the  Nawth,  and  we  never  have  classed  you  with 
them,  sah.     You  have  taken  no  part  in  politics." 

"  But  I  claim  the  right  to  do  so  if  I  desire." 

"Certainly,  certainly;  but  with  us." 

"  For  you  or  against  you,  as  shall  satisfy  my  own  sense  of 
right." 

"  Certainly  not  against  us!     Not  against  us!  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  against  you  if  my  opinions  lead  me  that  way." 

"Oh!" 

"Am  I  free?" 

"Certainly,  sah!  " 

"  How  can  there  be  freedom  if  the  right  to  exercise  it  is 
denied?" 

"But  it  is  not  denied  here.  No,  sah!  We  invite  perfect 
freedom.  Yes,  sah!  perfect  freedom, — most  perfect  freedom., 
sah." 

"But  suppose  I  think  you  are  wrong?" 

"  You  can  not  think  that,  sah." 

"  Suppose  I  openly  vote  against  you?" 

"It  would  be  an  act  of  enmity,  yes,  enmity,  sah!  of  open 
enmity  to  us.     And  you  could  not  do  that,  sah! " 

"  Thus  by  declaring  a  vote  against  you  an  act  of  enmitv 
you  abridge  the  freedom  of  suifrage.     Do  you  not  see  that?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  sah!  the  enmity  is  the  other  way, 
quite  the  other  way.  The  man  who  votes  against  us  is  our 
enemy;  yes,  our  enemy,  and  the  ballot  is  his  method  of  de- 
claring it.  Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that!  No,  sah, 
nothing  clearer  than  that.  No  one  who  is  not  our  enemy  will 
do  it." 


308  BRISTLING    WITH    TUORNS. 

"Well,  jrentlemen,  I  prefer  to  live  where  my  vote  will  not 
be  regarded  as  a  declaration  of  war." 

"It  is  not  here,  sah!  No,  sah!  It  is  not  here,  unless  a 
man  is  so  lost  to  sense  and  honah  as  to  vote  the  radical  ticket." 

With  that  the  discussion  ended. 

On  Saturday  night  the  mill  closed. 

Forty  days  later  the  machinery  was  on  the  way  north. 

Slimpton  missed  the  mill. 

Missed  the  money  it  cast  upon  the  town. 

But  it  had  its  politics  and  its  exelnsiveness,  and  it  was 
rapidly  approaching  the  Elysium  of  unanimity. 

The  Buzzer  had  said:  "If  you  want  to  see  'the  Republican 
column  move,  apply  the  Democratic  lash." 

The  lash  was  applied  and  the  column  was  moving — the 
mill  at  ihe  head  of  the  column — and  with  it  all  improvements. 

Mrs.  Shootfast  heard  of  the  interview. 

"  Impertinent  Yankee.  Impudence  unheard  of.  Presump- 
tion amazing.  To  expect  Southern  ladies  to  call  on  his  Yan- 
kee wife." 

"You  did  on  Mrs.  Huntley,"  retorted  the  judge. 

"Ah,  yes!  That  was  exceptional;  we  did  it  for  Dale.  And 
that  was  a  mistake.  A  great  mistake.  Some  of  our  set  never 
would  do  it,  and  now  we  who  did  call  are  affording  amuse- 
ment to  them.  1  did  it  under  protest,  judge,  as  you  know, 
and  I  could  cry  my  eyes  out  about  it." 

"  But  I  really  do  think  the  minister  might  have  called.  It 
seems  to  me  it  is  his  duty  to  visit  both  saints  and  sinners." 

"  But  his  wife  is  a  Yankee." 

"And  yet  I  think  if  I  was  a  minister  of  the  Gospel " 

"You  would  have  done  as  he  has.  Call  indeed.  Eveii  if 
he  had  the  disposition,  which  I  am  glad- to  say  he  has  not,  Mr. 
Purtense  is  a  true  Southern  gentleman;  he  would  have  had 
an  uncomfortable  time;  yes,  indeed,  a  very  uncomfortable 
time  among  his  flock." 

"Even  the  sheep  would  iiave  butted  him,"  said  the  judge, 
laughing. 

"We  would  have  suppressed  him  at  all  events." 

"  You  have  suppressed  the  mill  at  all  events." 


THE   TIDE   OP   PASSION.  309 

"  I  ?  " 

«  You  ladies." 

"  Suppressed,  indeed.  The  fellow  can't  find  meanness 
enoagh  here  to  suit  him,  even  among  the  negroes,  and  he  goes 
North,  where  he  can  find  nothing  else." 

"  Whatever  the  reason,  I  fear  it  is  gone." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.     Heartily  glad  of  it." 

"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am.     I  detested  it  from  the  first." 

'*  Lt  was  a  great  advantage  to  the  town." 

"  You  never  said  it  before." 

"  I  never  saw  the  dano;er  of  losino-  it  before." 

"For  one  I  rejoice  it  is  going.  It  was  an  unneeded  inno- 
vation. The  whir  of  machinery  and  the  activity  that  sur- 
rounds it,  puts  ideas  into  people's  heads." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  So  much  the  worse,  judge,  for  a  people  who  must  be 
controlled.  To  control  a  people  easily  they  must  be  ignor- 
ant. Not  only  ignorant  of  letters,  but  they  must  cease  to 
think;  and  a  machine,  any  active,  stirring  industry,  even  the 
new  inventions  for  planters,  excites  the  laborers'  curiosity; 
sets  them  to  thinking;  and  with  that,  ease  of  control  disap- 
pears. Give  me  the  good  old  days  when  there  was  no  think- 
ing among  the  hands,  and  nothing  to  think  about." 

"  You  are  oroino-  backward." 

"Yes,  to  happiness  ;  to  the  times  when  gentlemen  did  the 
thinking  and  were  the  masters;  when  the  negroes  were  slaves, 
and  the  brainless  poor  whites  were  beina:  fitted  for  slaves. 
That  is  happiness.  Take  away  your  machinery  and  your  tools, 
everything  that  can  make  poor  people  think.  Then  we  will 
have  a  revival  of  the  dear,  good  old  times." 

The  arrival  of  guests  ended  the  discussion. 
A  few  days  later  a  meeting  was  called  to   accelerate  the 
movement  northward. 

It  was  in  the  night  time,  and  the  court-house  was  packed. 
Valore,  Shootfast,  Cartier,  Bartdale  and  Lex  were  there. 

A  meeting  without  Lex,  anywhere  in  America,  would  be  a 
failure. 


310  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Whisper  meeting  and  speech-making  and  Lex  flings  Black- 
stone  to  the  dogs. 

The  word  was  whispered. 

Blackstone  was  dumped. 

Lex  rushed  to  the  fray,  champing  liis  quid  as  young  colts 
do  their  bits. 

Old  heads  and  wise  tongues. 

Pshaw  ! 

There  is  no  head  so  wise,  no  tongue  so  waggy,  as  newly- 
hatched  Lex,  strutting  in  his  join-feathers. 

Lex  was  at  the  meeting. 

He  was  irrepressible. 

He  squirmed  in  between  words. 

He  shook  his  mane  in  the  tobacco-scented  air,  and  hurled 
at  the  audience  the  Athenians,  Parthenians,  Carthagenians 
and  Fenians,  the  fellow  who  plunged  into  the  chasm,  and 
Rome's  geese. 

Lex  was  confident  and  exhaustlessly  voluble. 

The  crackers  didn't  understand,  but  they  roared. 

There  is  nothing  like  a  dictionary  flung  'round  with  vehe- 
mence. 

Lex  sat  down  in  a  lather. 

Then  came  Bartdale,  denouncing  the  Northern  men  who 
were  candidates  for  office  on  the  Republican  ticket.  "  They 
ought,"  he  said,  bringing  his  cane  down  on  the  desk,  "  to  be 
killed  ! "  The  cane  was  an  exclamation  point.  "  They  must 
be  got  rid  of.  Every  one  of  them.  They  poison  the  air.  I 
couldn't  lie  in  my  grave  with  the  breath  of  Yankees  and  nig- 
gahs  ruling  my  beloved  State  over  me.  No,  sah  !  They 
must  be  got  rid  of.  We  must  carry  this  election  at  all  haz- 
ards. At  all  hazards,  gentlemen  !  Then!  then!  thank  God! 
we  will  see  the  buzzards  flying  away  to  their  Northern  roosts. 
Yes,  gentlemen,  at  all  hazards  —  at  all  hazards  !  I  say  it,  my 
suffering,  down-trodden,  oppressed  countrNnnen.  I,  one  of  the 
suff'erers,  one  of  the  oppressed,  one  of  the  down-trodden,  I  say 
it  to  you.     We  must  carry  the  election  at  all  hazards." 

A  tumult  of  applause  followed  Bartdale's  address. 

Then  came  resolutions. 


THE    TIDE    OF    PASSIOX.  311 

A  meeting  without  resolutions  is  an  ocean  without 
froth. 

The  resolutions  were  reported. 

1.  We  will  not  employ  or  lease  lands  or  rent  houses  to  Re- 
publicans. 

2.  We  will  not  recognize  any  person  who  does  employ  Re- 
publicans or  rent  them  houses  or  lands. 

3.  We  will  not  have  social  intercourse  with  any  person 
who  votes  the  Republican  ticket,  and  will  not  recognize  any 
such  person  as  a  gentleman. 

4.  Any  person  who  makes  or  assists  in  making  an  official 
bond  for  a  Radical  office  holder  we  will  treat  as  a  traitor  and 
enemy  to  this  community. 

5.  We  will  succeed  in  the  coming  election  peaceably  if  we 
can,  forcibly  if  we  must.* 

"Gentlemen,  you  have  heard  the  resolutions.  All  in 
favor." 

A  tremendous  "  A-y-e  !  "  shook  the  building. 

It  was  a  roar. 

It  was  Bull  Run  and  Chickamauga  rolled  into  one. 

Now  rivet  it. 

The  Democratic  candidate  for  the  Legislature  now  opened 
his  mouth. 

There  were  several  negro  spectators. 

The  would-be  law  maker  turned  upon  them. 

"I  tell  you  niggahs,"  he  said,  "  I  tell  you  now  that  the 
time  has  passed  for  Republicans  to  rule  this  county.  We,  the 
white  men,  offer  you  a  ticket;  and  if  you  do  not  vote  for  us 
and  we  do  not  elect  this  ticket,  the  blood  that  was  shed  at 
Yazoo  and  Vicksburg  wall  be  as  dew  before  the  sun  to  the 
blood  that  will  be  shed  in  this  county  if  we  are  not  elected.! 
We  want  you  to  understand  once  for  all  that  our  motto  is: 

"  A  white  man  in  a  white  man's  place." 

"  A  black  man  in  a  black  man's  place." 

"  Each  accordino'  '  to  the  eternal  fitness  of  thino^s.'     And 

*  Adopted  by  many  Democratic  clubs, 
t  A  fact,  as  sworn  to. 


'S\2  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

rivers  of  blood  will  flow  if  you  attempt  to  change  the 
order."* 

Then  the  meeting  dispersed. 

The  tide  of  passion  was  rising. 

It  swelled  over  Slimpton. 

It  gathered  about  the  Huntleys  and  the  Trenhoms,  and  it 
surged  out  to  the  plantation  of  Jupiter  Saltire. 

*  The  utterer  of  this  atrocious  seutlinent  was  elected. 


ONLY   A   YANKEE.  313 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 


ONLY    A    YANKEE. 


After  the  meeting  in  the  Shootfast  parlors  Slimpton  be- 
came a  polar  sea  to  Mrs.  Trenhom  and  Mrs.  Huntley. 

There  is  no  stone  harder  than  a  woman  solidified. 

There  are  no  eyes  so  blind  as  those  of  a  woman  who  has 
determined  to  cut  an  acquaintance. 

There  is  no  chill  like  a  flounced  and  gloved  society  ice- 
berg. 

They  freeze. 

They  congeal. 

Their  eyes  are  zero. 

Their  mouths  are  twenty  degrees  below, 
^jrhey  are  the  pink  snows  of  society. 

These  Slimpton  ladies  came  and  went. 

Mrs.  Erma  Cartier  was  the  solitary  exception. 

No  inducements  could  bring  her  to  the  post-office,  into  the 
streets  of  the  town,  or  any  where  that  she  might  meet  her  old 
friends,  Mrs.  Huntley  or  Mrs.  Trenhom. 

Dale  Cartier,  her  husband,  expostulated  ;  he  urged  upon 
his  wife  that  she  was  punishing  herself;  that  she  could  not 
pursue  that  course  forever;  sometime  she  must  go;  why  not 
go  at  once? 

To  all  this  Erma  could  only  answer: 

"  Don't  ask  it,  Dale.  Please  do  not.  For  you  I  forego 
the  pleasures  of  their  society.     But  I  could  not  meet  Kitty." 

"  Mrs.  Huntley?"  said  her  husband,  with  some  sternness  in 
his  voice. 

"Yes,  Dale,  Mrs.  Huntley;  T  could  not  meet  her  or  her 
husband  without  speaking,  not  if  all  the  world  was  pushing 


314:  BRISTLING     WITH    TllUUNS. 

me  forward.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  know  I  could  not.  If  I  should 
meet  her — Kitty — " 

"Mrs.  Huntley."     Her  husband  again  interjected. 

"Yes,  Dale,  Mrs.  Huntley;  I — I  would  kiss  her  if  I 
perished  for  it." 

"Erma!  Erma!"  replied  her  husband  warmly,  "j^ou  forget 
yourself — you  forget  yourself." 

"No,  Dale!  No,  dear!  I  remem])er.  That's  it,  dear. 
When  I  draw  near  her  I  see  only  one  thing,  Dale;  you,  dear, 
lying  prostrate  on  that  awful  hillside  at  Chickamauga  with  a 
smoking  shell  ready  to  explode  by  your  side,"  and  she  shiv- 
ered as  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  little  white  hands. 

"Then — then,  Dale,"  she  added,  "I  see  her  noble  husband 
standing  up  in  a  dreadful  hail  of  bullets;  I  see  him  lift  the 
shell;  I  see  the  shell  rising  in  the  air  and  rolling  down  the 
hill  and  exploding  far  away  from  you,  dear,  and  I  see  her 
husband  falling — wounded — wounded  for  you.  Dale.  Saving 
you  to  me.  Dale.  And  now  he  is  dying,  Dale;  dying,  dear, 
for  you;  dying,  that  I  might  have  you.  Dale.  Oh,  I  couldn't! 
I  couldn't!  I  couldn't  pass  her  in  silence.  Indeed  I  could 
not,  Dale." 

"  That's  sentiment,  Erma." 

"Oh,  Dale!" 

"  Yes,  mawkish  sentiment!  " 

"  Please  don't.  Dale."       ' 

"  I  would  have  done  the  same  for  him." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,  dear,  and  Kitty" — 

"Mrs.  Huntley!"  interrupted  Dale  Cartier,  with  growing 
severity  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,  Dale;  Mrs.  Huntley  and  her  poor,  suffering,  dying 
husband  would  never  forget.  No,  Dale,  never;  I  am  sure  of 
it;  and,  dear  Dale,  you  ought  to  remember  them." 

"  I  do  remember." 

"  I  am  sure  you  do,  dear,  and,  remembering,  you  should 
not  ask  this." 

"But  they  are  Yankees!" 

"And  they  were  our  friends." 

"  Pshaw,  Erma!     It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it." 


ONLY   A    YANKEE.  315 

"  Dale,  dear! " 

There  was  a  volume  of  reproach  in  the  words.  Her  hands 
were  clasped  over  her  husband's  left  shoulder,  and  her  wide- 
open  eyes,  full  of  entreaty,  were  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  I  mean  it,  Erma.  The  humiliation  of  receiving  them  in 
my  home  and  calling  on  them  is  charge  enough  for  any  ser- 
vice. Yes,  for  even  a  greater  service  than  that  Yankee  soldier 
did  for  me." 

"Oh,  Dale!  Dale!" 

Dale  Cartier  drew  his  shoulder  from  under  his  wife's  hands 
and  walked  to  the  window.  After  a  moment  of  silence  he 
said,  with  his  back  to  her: 

"  Avoid  them  if  you  will,  Erma.  But  I  insist  that  you  do 
not  again  speak  of  what  he  did  for  me.  In  receiving  him  for 
a  time  as  my  guest  and  recognizing  him  I  have  returned  him 
full  value  for  his  service.     Much  more  than  full  value." 

Erma  walked  after  him  to  the  window.  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears  and  her  voice  tremulous  with  pain. 

"  If  it  had  been  a  dog,  dear  Dale,"  she  said,  "  who  saved 
your  life  or  the  life  of  one  of  our  precious  cliildren,  we 
never  would  tire  of  pelting  him." 

"  Certainly  not,  Erma.  But  that  is  different.  These  are 
Yankees." 

With  this  in  his  mind  Dale  Cartier  walked  out  of  the 
house  and  down  into  the  town. 

Erma  buried  her  face  in  the  lounge  and  wept.  She  grieved 
for  her  friends,  and  grieved  more  over  the  new  light  Dale's 
words  had  let  in  upon  his  character.  She  was  beginning  to 
understand  that  the  human  soul  has  secrets  hidden  even  from 
itself. 

Few  men  are  what  they  seem. 

Some  are  better,  some  are  worse. 

Far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  earth  are  hidden  shreams. 

Probed  and  penetrated,  these  streams  rise  to  the  sur- 
face. 

And  they  rise  up,  some  sweet,  some  bitter. 

Events  probe  men  in  the  same  way. 

They  are  all  surprise  boxes. 


816  bristlixCt  with  tiioiixs. 

Touch  the  secret  spring  of  their  lives;  from  one  springs  a 
saint  and  a  martyr;  from  another  a  devil. 

After  this  no  inducement  could  take  Erma  Cartier  into 
Siimpton. 

Not  so  tlie  other  ladies  of  her  set. 

They  walked  the  streets. 

They  went  to  the  post-office. 

They  encountered  the  tabooed  ladies  here  and  there. 

Salute  them? 

Recognize  them? 

No!  not  once. 

In  the  eyes  of  every  one  of  tlie  Siimpton  ladies  "  I  don't 
know  you  "  was  written  in  great  frosty  letters. 

Among  the  first  who  came  to  the  post-office  after  the 
gathering  in  the  Shootfast  parlors  was  Mrs.  Shootfast. 

She  drove  close  up  to  the  door. 

The  driver  drew  the  reins.  "  See  if  that  Yankee  woman 
has  any  letters  for  me,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Shootfast. 

That  was  all. 

But  every  word  she  uttered  was  audible  in  the  remotest 
recess  of  the  little  office. 

The  driver  entered. 

There  were  no  letters. 

Then  Mrs.  Shootfast  drove  away,  but  her  shrill  notes  were 
heard  far  beyond  the  post-office. 

The  passers  in  the  street  heard  them. 

Some  stenches  cling  and  spread. 

Indignities  are  of  this  character. 

These  words  did. 

They  were  in  every  one's  nostrils. 

It  was  the  correct  thing  to  insult  the  postmistress. 

The  great  Mrs.  Shootfast  had  set  the  fashion.  And  the 
style  of  the  great  will  be  aped  whether  it  be  in  furbelows, 
crimped  hair  or  biting  words. 

An  hour  after  Mrs.  Shootfast  left  the  post-office  a  huge 
"  sand-hiller  "  entered  it. 

He  was  one  of  the  Pelter  i^anfr. 

He  stood  before  the  delivery  window. 


OXLY    A    YANKEE.  317 

"  Say,  Yank,  be  thah  any  lettahs  fo'  me?" 

"  What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"What?  Don't  know  a  Christian  fellah-citizen's  name? 
x\  bully  post-woman  you  be.  What  yer  heah  fo',  ef  tain't  to 
know  yer  bettahs  when  they  comes?  " 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  your  name  I  will  look,  sir." 

The  woman  was  all  urbanity  as  she  looked  up  at  him 
through  the  small  delivery  window. 

The  man  had  never  been  there  before. 

She  did  not  know  him. 

He  never  had  received  a  letter  from  that  office. 

Never  had  received  one  from  anywhere. 

He  could  not  read  one  if  he  had  received  it. 

"  Drat  yo',  I  jist  want  yer  to  look." 

"  I  will  with  pleasure,  sir,  if  you  will  tell  me  what  name 
to  look  for." 

"  Jist  you  rattle  'em  over  anyway.  Does  yer  heah.  Drat 
yer  shackelty  hide  !  " 

Mrs.  Huntley's  earnest  eyes  were  fixed  en  his  face. 

For  an  instant  she  was  too  full  of  amazement  to  speak. 
When  she  found  words  she  said: 

"I  hope  you  have  not  come  here  to  insult  me  !  " 

There  was  both  courtesy  and  determination  in  her  tones. 
For  a  moment  the  man  was  abashed. 

"  Insult  you,  you Yankee ."  L- 

(The  nastiness  of  the  speech  is  omitted.  It  was  slime  of 
the  brothel.) 

Tears  sprung  into  Kate's  eyes. 

A  hot  flush  rushed  to  her  cheeks. 

She  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands. 

And  she  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

It  was  dreadful.     That  she  should  listen  to  such  foulness. 

Then  the  beast  turned  away  with  a  roar. 

"  Didn't  I  take  that  drat  Yank  down." 

This,  too,  spread. 

It  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

The  burly  ruffian  lounged  down  the  street. 

"An'  did  yer  do  that  ?  " 


318  BlUSTLING    WITH    TUOUNS. 

"Yaas!" 

"  Dawg  awn  !  " 

He  was  the  hero  of  the  hour. 

Men  ran  to  the  street  doors  to  see  him. 

Bright  e^'-es  peeped  out  of  windows  to  see  the  wonderful 
man  who  had  insulted  the  Yankee  postmistress. 

Chuckling,  laughter  and  laudation  invited  emulation. 

Fools  and  blackguards  are  sheep. 

Where  one  goes  another  will  follow. 

The  next  day  the  post-office  was  again  invaded. 

This  invader  the  postmistress  knew. 

Time  and  again  had  Mrs.  Huntley  fed  his  wife  and  children 
when  they  were  starving. 

The  dresses  then  on  his  little  children's  backs  were  her 
gift,  the  coinage  of  her  nimble  fingers. 

This  beast  was  Jim  Gouge. 

"  Yaller  Jim,"  he  was  called,  and  justly. 

He  was  more  swarthy  than  any  mulatto  in  the  town. 

Gouge  stood  in  the  office  before  the  delivery  window. 

"  Say,  whahs  my  lettah?  " 

"  Have  none  for  you,  James." 

"  Mighty  familiar,  hain't  yer  !  Jeemes  !  drat  yer  wrinkled 
hide!" 

Kate  was  amazed. 

Was  the  man  drunk  or  crazy? 

She  bent  down  to  the  window  and  looked  up  at  him. 

She  saw  the  broad  grin  on  his  jaws,  and  the  wicked  leer  in 
his  eyes.     Then  she  said*  to  him: 

"  Mr.  Gouge,  there  is  no  letter  for  you." 

"  Look  !     Drat  yo',  look  !  " 

"I  remember  every  letter,  Mr.  Gouge." 

The  memory  of  some  letter  deliverers  is  wonderful  and 
unerring. 

'*Dawg  awn  ef  yer  hain't  got  ter  look." 

"  It  is  no  use.     I  know." 

"  Drat  yer  low-lived  Yankee,  will  yo'  look  !  Jest  3^0'  look, 
will  yer  !  " 

To  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  profanity,  Kate  looked.     Let- 


ONLY    A    YANKEE.  319 

ter  by  letter  she  passed  slowly  from  the  left  hand  into  the 
right,  carefully  turning  the  superscription  toward  the  window, 
so  that  the  man  could  see  that  she  looked.  When  she  reached 
the  last  letter  she  said  to  him: 

"  You  see,  sir,  as  I  told  you,  there  is  no  letter." 

"  Ther  hain't,  hain't  ther  !  " 

"  No,  sir  !  " 

"  Waal,  you  jist  look  again." 

At  this  time  three  or  four  of  the  Pelter  crowd  were  gath- 
ered about  the  doorway  laughing,  and  emphasizing  their 
merriment  by  poking  each  other  in  the  ribs  and  bringing 
their  great  hands  down  on  their  thighs. 

Kate  was  full  of  suppressed  wrath,  but  she  lifted  the  let- 
ters and  calmly  went  over  them  again. 

''  There  is  no  letter,  sir." 

"  Jist  turn  'em  over  agin.     Drat  yo'." 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  not." 

"You  won't!     Drat  yer  peekety  hide!     You  won't!  " 

"  No,  I  will  not." 

"  You Yankee ." 

(His  words,  which  were  vile  spume  from  a  sink,  were  unfit 
to  be  repeated.) 

"  I  wish  you  would  leave  the  office.  You  will  oblige 
me  if  you  will.     Go!     Go  at  once!" 

"I  hain't  going  ter  leave  till  yer  look.     Drat  yo'." 

"  I  will  not  look  again.     Go  out!     Go  out  at  once!  " 

Then  she  turned  away  from  the  window  and  began 
arranging  papers  with  her  back  to  Gouge. 

"  Yaller  Jim  "  raved. 

His  mouth  was  a  cessjoool  of  nastiness. 

Then  he  drew  a  pistol,  leveled  it  through  the  window  and 
fired. 

Kate  screamed. 

The  gaping  crowd  at  the  door  laughed  and  cheered. 

Gouge  roared  again  and  in  the  cloud  of  smoke  disappeared 
from  the  office. 

Kate  was  uninjured. 

The  ruffian  possibly  did  not  design  to  injure  her. 


320  BRISTLING    "WITH    THORNS. 

The  ball  from  his  pistol  imbedded  itself  in  the  wall  three 
or  four  feet  from  her  head,  and  Gouge  was  too  good  a  marks- 
man to  fire  so  wide  at  muzzle  range  unless  it  was  purposely 
done. 

Kate  was  petrified  with  astonishment  and  overcome  with 
indignation. 

Her  thoughts  at  first  turned  upon  Gouge  and  his  family — 
and  what  she  had  done  for  them. 

She  thought  of  the  food  and  clothing  she  had  given  them; 
the  nights  she  had  sat  by  their  sick  bedsides  administering 
the  medicines  she  had  purchased,  and  cooling  the  parchings 
of  fever  with  draughts  she  supplied.    And — for  this!  for  this! 

She  thought  of  the  flash,  the  shot,  the  bullet,  and  the 
danger.     She  did  not  know  it  was  a  scare,  and  not  an  escape. 

Then  an  ague  of  fright  took  possession  of  her.  "  If  he 
had  killed  her,  ^Yhat  would  become  of  Hal?" 

With  a  pistol  pointed  at  her  head  she  would  have  been  a 
rock. 

Now  that  the  danger  was  passed,  she  was  a  pebble  shaken 
in  the  current,  and  thoughts  of  Hal  brought  a  flood  of  tears. 

Then  she  walked  away  into  a  back  room  to  hide  them. 

Tears  are  hearts-ease. 

Tears  wash  away  pain. 

In  the  flood  of  tears  Kate  found  relief. 

A  footstep  n eared  the  door  from  the  dwelling  in  the  rear 
of  the  post-oflice. 

Kate  knew  it. 

It  was  her  husband,  Halmer  Huntley,  the  sergeant  of 
Chickamauga. 

Her  tears  dried  on  the  instant. 

The  torrent  was  dammed  up. 

The  pause  of  weeping  is  a  wonderful  power  of  woman- 
hood. 

The  door  opened  and  Hal  entered. 

"Didn't  I  hear  a  shot,  Kate?" 

"  Perhaps,  dear.     I  believe  there  was  one  out  there." 

That  might  mean  the  front  office,  or  the  street,  or  beyond. 

"  Anyone  shot?" 


ONLY    A    YANKEE.  321 

"  Oh,  no!  only  firing!  " 

"Ah!"     That  was  a  common  thing. 

And  this  is  Sergeant  Hal  of  Chickamauga. 

But  how  changed. 

Once  he  was  tall  and  strong,  and  ruddy  and  erect. 

Now  he  is  thin  and  stooped  and  white. 

Andersonville  and  the  ball  that  penetrated  his  lungs  when 
he  stood  up  to  hurl  the  shell  away  from  the  side  of  helpless 
Dale  Cartier,  have  told  on  him. 

His  full,  round  tones  are  gone. 

In  place  of  the  strong,  eager  voice,  there  is  a  strange 
grating  sound,  and  a  racking,  hollow  cough. 

There  is  a  hectic  glow  on  his  thin  cheeks  and  an  unnatural 
brilliancy  in  his  eyes. 

Kate  hurried  into  the  front  office,  gave  some  instructions 
to  her  assistant,  and  then  came  back  to  Hal. 

"  Come,  dear,  let  us  go  out  under  the  trees." 

Then  she  led  him  out  through  the  house  in  the  rear,  down 
in  the  garden,  under  the  shelter  of  the  fragrant  magnolias. 

There  she  read  and  sewed  and  sano^,  and  so  the  mornino^ 
passed  away. 

In  the  afternoon  there  were  new  troubles.  Her  female 
assistant  in  the  post-office  could  not  come  any  more. 

"She  needed  the  money,  oh,  so  much!  so  much!"  she 
said.  "But  what  could  she  do?"  The  children  in  the  streets 
derided  her.  They  followed  her,  called  her  Yank,  and  traitor; 
one  cried,  "  She  im  gwan  to  marry  a  nig."  "  Dear  Mrs. 
Huntley,  it  is  simply  dreadful,  and  mother  has  put  her  foot 
down.     She  will  not  permit  me  to  come." 

"  But,  my  dear,  your  mother  begged  me  to  take  you.  She 
said  you  were  all  literally  starving." 

"And  it  is  true!  so  awfully  true,  Mrs.  Huntley;    we  were, 
indeed  we  were." 

"And  have  you  saved  any  money?" 

"  Not  one  cent !     Not  one  !     Mother  would  buy  ribbons 
and  bonnets,  everything  to  be  up  with  her  neighbors.     She 
thought  the  river  never  would  go  dry,  and  now  we  have  noth- 
ing.    Boo-hoo-oo-oo  !  ". 
31 


'd2'Z  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"  That's  the  way,  dear.  No  cistern  in  the  rain,  no  water  in 
the  drought." 

"  What  we  shall  do  I  don't  know."  And  the  young  lady 
wrung  her  hands  and  again  wept  hysterically. 

"Why  not  continue,  dear  ;  the  duties  are  light  and  pleas- 
ant, and  you  know  that  I  love  you." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Huntley,  you  have  only  been  too  good  !  Too 
good  !  1  don't  know  how  I  can  repay  your  kindness.  I  don't 
know  how  we  shall  live  without  the  salary.  But — but — oli, 
dear — dear — dear — boo-hoo-oo-ou  !  " 

"Is  it  quite  impossible  to  remain?" 

"  Oh  !  If  I  could  !  If  I  could  !  But  there's  mother— and 
— the — b-r-a-t-s — in  the  stre-e-eet  !     Oh-ou-ou-u!  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  sorry,  very,  very  sorry  to  part  with 
you  ;  but  if  you  must  go —  " 

"  I  must !     I  must !     And  I  did  so  want  to  stay  !  " 

"  Then  let  us  see  how*  much  I  owe  you  !  " 

"  I  am  afraid — noth-i-ing  !     Noth-i-i-ing." 

Kate  looked. 

She  ran  up  a  little  column  of  figures.  Then  she  ran  them 
over  again. 

The  assistant's  account  had  been  overdrawn  more  than 
fifty  dollars. 

"  Do  you  know  how  the  account  stands,  dear?  "  asked  Kate. 

"  I  know  it  is  overdrawn,  ever  and  ever  so  mu-u-ch  !  aa-n-d 
I  do-on't  know  how  I  shall  pay-ay  it.     Boo-hoo-oo-ou  !  " 

Kate  opened  a  little  safe  and  counted  over  some  bills. 
Then  she  approached  the  girl. 

"  Will  you  take  this  from  me,  dear  ?  " 

She  reached  out  the  roll  of  bills. 

The  fair  young  hand  stretched  out  for  it,  then  drew  back, 
and  the  young  head  with  its  wealth  of  soft  curls  dropped  upon 
Mrs.  Huntley's  shoulder. 

She  spoke  not  a  word.  It  was  simply  one  prolonged 
"Oh-h-h-h!" 

And  while  she  lay  there  moaning  Mrs.  Huntley  pushed  the 
roll  of  bills  into  her  fingers.  She  kissed  her  forehead  and  her 
cheeks.     And  then  they  parted — parted  forever  in  this  world. 


UNCHAINED   TIGERS.  323 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


UNCHAINED    TIGERS. 


The  foUowino:  dav  brought  a  renewal  of  trouble  to  the 
post-office. 

When  a  community  uncages  its  tigers  they  will  rend  and 
crunch. 

The  tigers  of  Slimpton  were  unchained. 

It  was  Joe  Ratley  who  this  day  showed  his  teeth. 

With  him  were  three  others,  equally  brutal. 

They  had  been  lounging  at  the  grocery,  whispering  of  the 
"  fun  "  of  the  night  preceding  and  laughing  about  the  "  skear 
Yaller  Jim  guv  the  Yankee  critter." 

"  It  would  be  a  powah  o'  fun  to  gwo  down  ther'  with  a  jug 
o'  whisk  an'  play  keards  on  the  floa'." 

It  was  Joe  Ratley  who  suggested  this. 

It  was  a  brilliant  idea. 

It  was  rolled  over  and  applauded. 

The  doggery  keeper  was  elated  and  agreed  to  loan  the 
"  papes"  and  furnish  the  "  whisk." 

It  was  the  only  gift  of  his  vile  "cawn-juice"  he  ever  was 
known  to  make. 

The  whisky  was  drawn  and  jugged. 

A  greasy  pack  of  cards  was  produced  from  a  foul  drawer. 

Then  the  four  started  for  the  post-office,  followed  by  a 
half-drunken  crowd  who  had  been  advised  of  their  purpose,  to 
"  see  the  fun." 

When  they  entered  the  post-office  they  each  demanded 
letters. 

Mrs.  Huntley  told  them  there  were  none. 

'*  Look  again." 

u  No  ! " 


.^'/A  IilllSTLlN(i     WITH    TIIOKNS. 

"  Drat  yer  slattery  hide,  look  !  " 

"  No,  sir;  I  have  looked,  and  will  not  look  again  !  " 

"  You  won't  ?  " 

"No,  I  will  not.  If  you  have  come  here  to  insult  me,  I 
have  no  way  to  prevent  it,  unfortunately  ;  none  whatever. 
I  have  no  protection.  I  am  weak  and  at  your  mercy  ;  but 
I  will  not  be  an  acquiescent  and  helping  party  to  it  by  search- 
ing for  letters  when  I  have  looked   and  satisfied  myself  there 


"  Drat  yer  imperde 


nc(3 


»  " 


It  was  Joe  Ratley  who  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Ratley,  did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  you  are  a 
coward  ?" 

Joe'flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  red  hair  ;  gawked  a  moment, 
then  turned  to  the  others : 

*'  Come  on  boys,  let's  have  a  drink  !  " 

He  raised  the  jug  and  the  hot  fluid  gurgled  down  his 
throat. 

The  others  then  drank  and  placed  the  jug  on  the  floor. 

Joe  sat  down  beside  the  jug. 

"  Come  on  fellers,  let's  hev  a  game  o'  euchre." 

The  others  sat  down  in  a  circle.  The  jug  was  in  the  center 
of  the  circle. 

Joe  shuffled  the  greasy  j)ack  of  cards. 

The  doorway  was  blocked. 

Any  scoundrelism  can  find  lookers  on  and  applauders. 

The  lookers  on  in  the  door  were  compacted  by  the  crowd 
extending  far  out  on  the  walk. 

Mrs.  Huntley  was  looking  with  wide  open  eyes. 

For  a  few  moments  she  was  petrified  with  astonishment. 

"Surely,  gentlemen,  you  do  not  intend  to  play  cards 
there?" 

"  Shet  your  gabblement." 

"You  bet  we  does." 

"Shuffle,  Joe." 

"  But  this  is  a  post-office,  and  the  public  must  come  here." 

All  four  mouths  opened  and  poured  out  upon  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ley a  flood  of  Hastiness. 


UNCHAINED    TIGERS.  325 

The  crowd  in  the  door  laughed  and  shouted. 

Kate  was  disgusted  and  shocked.     Then  she  added  : 

"  This  office  belons^s  to  the  orovernment." 

"  Dawg  awn  your  government." 
.       "  Hurrah  fer  Jeff  Davis  !  " 

"  Drat  niggah  govern ilient  !  " 

"  Clubs  are  trumps." 

"Play!" 

Kate  walked  quickly  round  from  behind  the  delivery 
window. 

She  stood  close  beside  the  sitting  bullies  on  the  floor. 

She  stood  facing  the  gaping,  grinning,  shouting  bullies  in 
the  door. 

"  You  must  go  out  of  here."  Her  voice  was  fine  and  clear. 
It  rang  out  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd. 

"  Go  to ,  you Yankee ." 

It  was  a  puttering  of  foulness. 

It  ;vvas  horrible. 

Mrs.  Huntley  reached  down  quickly  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  group  on  the  floor. 

She  seized  the  jug. 

She  lifted  it  up. 

Then  she  hurled  it  over  the  heads  of  the  mocking  crowd  in 
the  door  far  out  into  the  street. 

As  she  did  this  Ratley  and  the  others  sprang  to  their 
feet. 

Joe's  cheeks  were  distended. 

His  mouth  was  full  of  saliva. 

He  ejected  the  filthy  flood,  tainted  with  tobacco,  full  at 
Mrs.  Huntley's  face. 

Kate  threw  her  head  back. 

The  reeking  stream  missed  her  face,  but  struck  her  throat 
and  rolled  down  upon  her  dress. 

Instantly  there  was  a  cheer  at  the  door. 

Kate  saw  the  cheering  crowd  at  the  door,  and  among 
them,  a  few  feet  away  from  the  door,  she  saw  one  face  that 
filled  her  with  horror. 

It  was  Major  Dale  Cartier. 


326  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Then  she  murmured,  "  Oh,  oli,  what  a  coward  a  brave  man 
can  be." 

From  this  moment  she  abandoned  hope. 

If  he — he.  Dale  Cartier,  of  all  men  in  the  world — if  he  can 
see  Halmer  Huntley's  wife  insulted,  what  must  the  rest  be  ? 
What  would  they  not  do  ? 

Before  the  thought  was  rounded  in  her  mind  there  was 
a  tumult  in  the  door. 

There  was  a  rush. 

Men  jostled  and  crushed  together. 

Out  of  the  melee  one  form  became  distinct. 

He  was  within  the  door. 

He  was  facing  Joe  Ratley  and  the  others. 

It  was  Colonel  Walter  Trenhom. 

"  Go  out  of  here.     Out  of  here,  everyone  of  you  !  " 

"  Scallawag  !  "  cried  some  one  in  the  doorway. 

Ratley  was  slinking  away  when  he  heard  the  word.  Then 
he  turned. 

"  Yaas,"  he  stuttered,  "  whose  gwine  ter  be  ordered  by 
traitors." 

Trenhom  took  one  step  toward  the  man  and  halted  "  You! 
You  cowardly  dog  !  You  dare  to  speak  to  me  !  Miserable  de- 
serter !  I  pardoned  you  once.  The  second  time  I  secured 
your  pardon  after  you  were  sentenced  to  be  shot.  The  third 
time  you  escaped.     And  you- — pshaw  !     Go  out  !  " 

The  jam  in  the  doorway  bellowed  "  Stick  !  Stick  !  Don't 
yer  git !  " 

One  of  the  ruffians  drew  a  pistol. 

The  hands  of  the  others  went  down  into  their  pistol 
pockets. 

But  Trenhom  was  before  them.  He  stood  erect,  facing 
the  door,  his  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  his  shoulders  thrown 
back. 

His  revolver  was  elevated,  pointing  squarely  at  the  head  of 
the  one  who  held  the  pistol  in  his  hand. 

The  crowd' in  the  door  ran. 

"  Drop  your  pistol  on  the  floor  and  walk  out." 

Trenhom's  every  word  was  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle. 


UNCHAINED   TIGERS.  337 

The  bully  dropped  his  pistol.  The  others  withdrew  their 
hands  from  their  pistol  pockets. 

Then  the  four  slunk  out  of  the  building. 

The  next  morning  when  the  post-office  opened  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ley found  a  letter  in  the  drop  box  addressed  to  the  postmaster. 

She  opened  it  and  read  : 

"  Take  notis.  We  will  only  give  you  twenty  days  to  leave 
this  county.  If  you  do  not  leave  you  may  look  out  for  about 
sixteen  buckshot  about  whear  your  gallises  crosses.  We 
ain't  going  to  have  no  more  snekeing  ignorant  Yanks  about 
hear.     So  git  up  and  dust." 


If  Kate's  husband  had  been  in  a  condition  to  move,  she 
would  have  gone  away  at  once  to  the  North,  but  he  was 
not.  He  was  fading  away.  The  end  she  knew  was  not  far 
off,  and  she  had  no  fears  of  personal  injury  to  him.  He  went 
nowhere  ;  the  greater  part  of  the  time  he  was  confined  to  bed 
or  a  sick  chair.  Bat  she.  did  forward  her  resignation  to  the 
postmaster  general. 

Days  passed — twenty  days.  There  had  been  petty  annoy- 
ances, but  no  renewal  of  gross  outrages. 

Kate  began  to  breathe  freer. 

On  the  night  of  the  twentieth  day,  after  she  had  retired  for 
the  night,  there  came  a  cry,  "  Fire  !    Fire  !  " 

Kate  drew  the  curtain,  looked  out. 

The  street  about  was  as  bright  as  mid- day. 

She  ran  down  stairs  in  her  night-dress  and  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the. garden. 

Then  she  saw  that  the  post-office  was  in  a  blaze. 

The  eager  tongues  of  flame  from  the  post-office  building 
were  already  lapping  the  resin  from  the  end  of  her  dwelling. 

A  crowd  had  gathered  in  the  street. 

They  were  leaning  against  the  fences,  and  standing  with 
hands  in  pocket,  looking  on. 


328  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Kate  cried  out  to  them,  "  Oh  !  oh  !  Gentlemen,  do 
help  us ! " 

Not  a  foot  or  a  hand  moved. 

Then  Kate  knew  that  the  post-office  and  her  home  were 
doomed. 

Again  Kate  cried  out  to  the  gaping  crowd  in  the  street: 

*'0h,  gentlemen  !  For  God's  sake  help  me  out  with  my 
husband  !  He  is  helpless !  Helpless,  and  will  be  burned  to 
death  !  " 

Joe  Ratley  was  there.  His  voice  was  heard  above  the  roar 
of  the  flames. 

"Hear  the  Yank  squall." 

Then  there  was  another  voice. 

It  was  "  Yaller  Jim." 

"  Hear  the  Yankee  cat  yow." 

Several  negroes  started  out  of  the  crowd  toward  the  door. 
Immediately  there  was  a  rush  of  white  men,  pistol  in  haild, 
after  the  negroes. 

"  Hiar,  yeu  !  Git  !  Drat  ye,  git  !  Raise  yer  hands  here 
and  yer'l  git  yer  heads  blowed  off." 

"  But,  mawstah,  the  man  in  thah'll  git  burned." 

"  Let  him  burn  !  " 

"  Yaas,  let  the  mizable  Yank  taste  fiah  !  " 

Kate  turned  from  the  crowd  —  turned  to  the  door  —  with 
her  hair  streaming  down  over  her  night-dress  and  disappeared 
in  the  smoke 

Up  the  stairs  !  , 

She  stood  at  her  husband's  bedside. 

She  raised  him  up. 

She  threw  a  blanket  about  him. 

There  was  no  time  to  think  of  dressing  him. 

There  was  no  time  to  think  of  a  covering  for  herself. 

The  flame  was  pursuing. 

The  roar  was  deafening. 

The  smoke  was  stifling. 

She  drew  him  upon  her  back. 

She  drew  his  wasted  arms  over  her  shoulder  ;  then,  with 
her  burden,  this  frail,  heroic  woman  staggered  to  the  door. 


UNCHAINED   TIGERS.  329 

A  cloud  of  smoke  rolled  in  upon  her. 

It  filled  her  nostrils. 

She  found  the  hall. 

She  groped  for  the  stairs. 

The  blinding  suffocating  smoke  enveloped  her. 

She  gasped. 

She  choked. 

She  stifled. 

And  the  weight  upon  her  back  bore  her  down. 

She  was  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

When  despair  had  almost  clutched  her,  she  found  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"  Ah,  thank  God  !  " 

Step  by  step. 

Step  by  step. 

Down,  down. 

The  smoke  filled  her  ears.  It  filled  her  eyes,  filled  her 
nostrils.     It  filled  her  throat. 

Down  amid  the  roar  and  crash. 

The  smoke  was  impenetrable. 

Tongues  of  flame  pursued  her. 

The  heat  was  unbearable. 

Down  ! 

"  Oh,  are  the  stairs  endless  ?  " 

*'  Would  she  never  escape  ?  " 

Love  nerved  her. 

Every  fiber  of  her  body  was  an  intense  struggle  against 
despair. 

Blindly  she  struggled  on. 

Feeling  was  gone.  ; 

The  roar  was  unheard. 

The  heat  and  the  flame  were  unfelt. 

She  only  knew  that  she  loved  Hal,  and  that  he  was  on  her 
back. 

Then  a  chill  air  swept  over  her  face,  and  she  fell  forward 
with  her  burden. 

As  she  fell  forward,  strong  arms  enveloped  and  held 
her  up. 


330  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Trenhom  had  heard  the  cry  of  "fire,"  and  Jupiter  Saltire, 
who  was  with  him  at  the  time,  in  consultation,  also  heard  it. 

Together  they  ran  out  into  the  street. 

Down  toward  the  burninor  buildinor. 

From  negroes  they  speedily  learned  the  hostile  attitude 
of  the  crowd,  and  of  the  door  where  Mrs.  Huntley  disap- 
peared. 

Reaching  the  front  of  the  post-office,  they  broke  through 
the  human  wall  about  it,  and  started  for  the  door. 

The  crowd  waved  them  back. 

Infuriated  men,  pistol  in  hand,  faced  them. 

Trenhom  called  to  Jupe: 

"  Draw  your  pistol  and  face  'em." 

Jupiter  sprang  to  his  side,  pistol  in  hand. 

With  pistols  raised,  the  two  men  fronted  the  crowd. 

The  crowd  shrank  from  the  muzzles  of  pistols  in  the  hands 
of  two  determined  men. 

Then  Trenhom  and  Jupiter  walked  backward  in  through 
the  garden  toward  the  door. 

As  they  reached  the  door  Mrs.  Huntley  emerged  from  the 
smoke,  and  as  she  was  falling,  Trenhom  caught  her  and  her 
husband  in  his  strong  arms. 

Kate  speedily  revived. 

Then  she  looked  upon  her  husband  and  her  heart  stood 
still  within  her. 

She  knew  it  had  come  at  last. 

There  was  an  ooze  of  blood  upon  his  lips,  and  the  red 
stream  had  dyed  her  night-dress  upon  the  shoulder  where  her 
husband's  head  had  lain  and  ebbed  down  upon  its  front. 

From  the  excitement  had  come  a  hemorrhage. 

Tenderly  they  bore  him  to  the  far  rear  of  the  grounds, 
away  from  the  fire,  smoke  and  roar. 

Then  they  laid  him  down  under  the  trees.  A  moment  he 
lay  quiet. 

Then  he  reached  his  thin  white  hands  down  upon  his  body. 

His  thumb  and  fino-ers  came  tos^ether. 

Then  they  lifted  and  opened. 

Again  and  again  his  thumb  and  fingers  came  together. 


{h 


%■ 


L 


-l^-^l-^.^^-'^     "^ 


^/ 


^  ^    ^  ^  '   r< 


■^  '   -.^    =- 


HIS  HEAD   WAS   PILLOWED  IN   JUPITER'S  LAP. 
331 


UNCHAINED    TIGERS.  333 

He  was  picking. 

"  Maggots  ! " 

Halmer  Huntley  tremble<^  as  the  word  passed  his  lips. 

His  lips  opened  again. 

"  Worms  !  " 

It  was  a  murmur. 

A  oruro^le. 

For  a  moment  he  lay  silent,  his  glazing,  vacant  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  heavens  above.  Then  he  shivered  again  from  head 
to  foot. 

He  tried  to  rise  up. 

A  fresh  sti-eam  of  blood  burst  from  his  lips. 

A  look  of  unutterable  horror  came  into  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

He  moved  his  thin  hand's  across  his  chest  as  if  brushing 
away  some  loathsome  object  from  his  person. 

Then  again  he  murmured: 

"  Scrape  them  oiF — oh  !  oh  !  Kit  !  Kit  !  Scrape  them 
away  !  Kit !  Kit,  come?  I  knew  she  would.  Jack,  old  boy. 
S-cc-h-h!  Wirz  will  hear  us.  S-c-c-h-h  !  Kit!  Kit!  Es- 
caped !  Oh  !  Kit  !  Kit  !  S-c-c-h-h  !  •  It's  Yankee  Doodle. 
Free!     Free!     Kit!     K-i-t  !  " 

His  head  was  pillowed  in  Jupiter's  lap. 

Trenhom  was  standing  over  him  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

Kate  was  sittino-  beside  him  holdino*  one  of  his  hands  and 
wiping  the  bloody  froth  from  his  lips. 

She  felt  the  hand  growing  chill  in  her  own. 

Then  she  knew  that  by  the  torch  of  his  own  home  he  had 
passed   away  from  the  bellowing  mob.     Out  of  the  Polar  sea. 

At  last  he  was  free — forever. 

And  her  head  sank  slowly  down  upon  his  breast. 


334  BRISTLING    WITU    TllOKNS. 


CHAPTER  XXXTII. 


A  few  days  after  the  catastrophe  at  the  post  office,  Lindy 
Ratley  saw  "  Yaller  Jim  "  Gouge  coming  through  i-he  cornfield 
toward  the  cabin. 

Joe  had  eaten  his  dinner  and  was  lazily  basking  in  the  sun 
at  the  rear  of  his  home,  the  direction  from  which  Jim  was  ap- 
proaching. 

When  Jim  came  into  the  opening  between  the  corn  and  the 
cabin,  he  saw  Joe  stretched  on  the  grass,  witli  his  shoulders 
supported  by  the  cabin  wall,  half  asleep  and  smoking. 

After  a  mutual  "  Hallo  !  "  Jim  prostrated  himself  beside 
his  comrade. 

Lindy  was  within,  sewing. 

The  two  men  without  were  chuckling  and  plotting. 

One  word  arrested  Lindy's  attention. 

That  word  was  "  Jupe  " 

She  drew  near  to  the  open  window  and  listened  to  the  low, 
grating  sounds  that  rose  up  from  the  grass. 

"  Drat  sassy  niggah." 

"  Puts  on  heap  o'  airs." 

"  Ridin'  on  a  hoss." 

"  An'  a  kerridge  foh  that  black  nig  o'  his'n." 

''  Makes  me  sick  in  the  innards  ter  see  ignurant  nigs  puttin' 
on  sich  airs." 

"  The  boys  ort  to  clean  'um  out." 

"  Let's  take  'em  thar  ter-night." 

"  Dawg  awn  ef  we  don't." 

"  Yaas;  we've  been  skinnin'  thar  coons;  dod  rat  ef  they  uns 
shan't  skin  our'n." 

"  Drat  ef  I  don't  take  the  bark  off  that  niggah  myself." 


mansa's  fate.  335 

"  Just  think  of  him  chucking  Inter  the  fiah  longside  that 
dratted  traitah  Trenhom." 

"  Pesky  niggah." 

"  Makes  my  innards  burn  ter  thinks  of  him." 

"Drat  ef  we  don't  slag  him  ter-night  arter  the  meetin'." 

Then  the  two  men  stood  up  and  walked  around  to  the  front 
of  the  house  and  shambled  down  the  walk  toward  the  gate  and 
the  road. 

Lindy's  light  step  was  on  the  path  behind  them. 

When  the  men  turned  at  the  gate  they  saw  her. 

Then  she  spoke. 

"Joe." 

Joe  paused  irresolute;  the  other  man  shuffled  up  the  road. 

"  Joe,"  continued  Lindy,  "  you  hed  better  leave  Jupiter 
alone." 

"  Nothing  but  a  niggah." 

"  Yes,  he's  black  out,  but  he's  white  in,  Joe,  and  you  ain't 
white  neither  side;  no,  neither  side,  Joe;  neither  side." 

Joe  stood  looking  down  in  the  road,  pawing  the  dust  with 
one  of  his  huge  feet,  and  he  answered  nothing. 

"Mind,  Joe,"  Lindy  added,  "you'd  best  leave  him  alone. 
Mind,  I  tell  you,  Joe;  sure,  Joe.  You  had  best  leave  Jupiter 
Saltire  alone." 

She  was  looking  straight  in  his  face. 

Her  words  came  out  very  slow  and  soft. 

"  He  ain't  nothing  but  a  niggah."  That  was  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  Joe's  argument  before  his  wife.  With  any 
one  else  he  would  have  been  more  voluble. 

"  Yes,  Joe,  he  is  a  niggah;  but  he  was  good  enough  niggah, 
him  and  his  wife,  to  nurse  the  children  and  me  all  one  winter 
out  of  the  scarlet  fever.  He  was  good  enough  for  that,  Joe, 
wasn't  he?  Yes,  Joe,  he  was  good  enough  for  that;  and  you 
was  a  little  afraid,  Joe,  wasn't  you?  Just  a  little  afraid,  Joe. 
You  ran  from  the  fever,  didn't  you,  Joe,  just  as  you  ran  from 
Yankee  bullets,  didn't  you,  Joe?  Yes,  Joe,  you  ran.  You 
are  good  at  running  from  danger,  ain't  you,  Joe?" 

Joe  continued  the  restless  pawing  with  his  feet.  He  was 
really  growing   terribly   afraid   of  this  woman,  who   bit   him 


336  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

with  her  relentless  ironical  words,  without  a  shade  of  passion 
in  them. 

"  And  when  you  couldn't  get  anything  to  eat  at  home — 
afraid  to  come  for  it,  wasn't  you,  Joe?  Yes,  afraid,  Joe — Ju- 
piter and  his  wife  fed  you.  All  winter,  wasn't  it,  Joe?  Yes, 
all  winter.  You  wasn't  too  i^ood  to  eat  at  the  nio^orah  table 
and  to  sleep  in  the  niggah  bed.  All  winter,  Joe  ;  all  winter 
when  you  wasn't  drunk,  and  sometimes  when  you  was,  Joe. 
x^nd  when  Jupiter  plowed  my  fields  in  the  spring,  and  wouldn't 
take  pay  for  it,  you  wasn't  too  nice  to  eat  the  corn  and  sass 
that  grew  on  it,  was  you,  Joe?" 

Joe  was  still  silent. 

"  I  hain't  going  to  say  no  more,  Joe,  only  you'd  best  leave 
Jupiter  alone;  mind  you,  Joe,  you'd  best.  Yes,  you  had  best. 
I  know  that,  Joe.     Yes,  Joe,  I  am  quite  sure  you  had  best." 

Every  word  she  uttered  was  in  the  same  soft,  coaxing  notes 
that  a  child  would  use  in  saving:  "  Come,  pussy,  let's  chase 
the  butterflies." 

Lindy  said  no  more. 

She  turned  away  from  Joe  and  walked  up  to  the  house. 

Full  half  an  hour  Joe  stood,  thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, then  passing  them  through  his  hair,  and  all  the  time  paw- 
ing, pawing  in  the  dust. 

He  was  uneasy. 

He  dreaded.     He  did  not  know  what,  but  he  dreaded. 

If "  Yaller  Jim "  had  not  been  waiting  up  the  road,  he 
would  have  turned  back  through  the  gate  into  the  flowering 
garden. 

But  Jim  was  waiting,  and  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

At  the  bend  of  the  road  Joe  paused  and  looked  back. 

Look,  Joe. 

See  the  cabin  to  which  you  brought  Lindy  years  ago. 

See  the  changes  she  has  wrought. 

Think. of  what  more  she  might  have  done  if  she  had  had  a 
man  for  a  husband. 

Look! 

Drink  it  in,  Joe  ! 

Now  say  farewell,  Joe  ! 


mansa's  fate.  337 

Never  more  !  never  more  ! 

When  Joe  disappeared,  Lindy  drew  the  children  to  her. 

There  were  three  at  home  now. 

One,  the  oldest,  was  married. 

A  young  farmer  came  down  from  the  North.  Bought  a 
plantation.  Married  Lindy's  daughter.  Became  disgusted 
with  the  South  and  went  away  North  with  his  wife. 

In  the  North  they  were  prospering,  and  Lindy's  oldest  was 
happy. 

The  other  three  worked  in  the  Slimpton  cotton-mill  until  it 
closed. 

Now  they  were  home. 
Lindy  told  the  girls  (they  were  all  girls)  she  was  going 
away.  Might  be  gone  all  afternoon.  Possibly  all  night.  If 
she  didn't  come  home  early,  leave  the  door  unbolted  and  go 
to  bed.  No  questions  were  asked.  They  were  not  chatterers. 
Lindy,  as  a  mother,  had  few  words.  She  never  stormed  or 
raged  or  threatened.  If  she  disapproved,  it  was  only  "  I  think 
I  wouldn't."     But  somehow  that  was  enough. 

Strong  words  are  not  government. 

Storms  are  not  control. 

Without  either  Lindy  controlled. 

The  children  were  pliant  as  putty  under  the  touch  of  her 
soft  words. 

From  her  house  Lindy  proceeded  to  Jupiter  Saltire's 
cottage. 

Mansa  was  at  home. 

Mansa.had  chano-ed  since  the  mornino^  she  led  Sherman's 
troops  down  through  the  streets  of  Savannah. 

Then  she  was  square  and  hard. 

Now  she  was  soft  and  round. 

Time  had  dealt  gently  with  her. 

And  the  world  —  it  usually  treats  people  well  who  put  it 
under  the  compulsion  of  sense,  honesty  and  energy. 

Her  little  home  was  bright  as  a  new  pin. 

The  surrounding  ground  was  full  of  fragrance,  of  shading 
trees  and  trailing  vines. 

Mansa  was  a  hu2:e  lauofh. 
22 


OOb  BKISTLIXG    WITH    THORNS. 

Her  days  were  prolonged  fun. 

It  was  so  good  to  own  yourself  and  have  plenty  to  eat  and 
to  wear,  and  a  horse  and  a  carriage. 

"  I  clah  to  goodness,"  she  frequently  said  to  Lindy,  "  when 
I  see  myself  in  a  kerridge — ki — i — !  I  jiss  think  I  buss,  shoa  ! 
When  Jupe  fust  git  dat  fo'-wheel  behicle  I  look  him  all  roun, 
an'  tell  him,  look  heah,  Jupe,  is  I  gwine  ter  tote  dat,  or  is  dat 
gwine  ter  tote  me  ?  Not  as  I  didn't  know.  Laws,  but  jist 
think  a'dat  ;  dis  yeah  cottonfield  niggahin  a  kerridge.  Glory! 
What  you  think  !  When  I  done  got  in  I  tells  Jupe  :  Now 
you  look  heah.  You  git  a  rope.  Git  one,  Jupe.  Laws  man, 
quicker'n  scat  ;  ef  yer  don't  I'll  jist  git  wings  and  histe  away. 
A  kerridge  !  Ki — i — i  !  De  Lawd.  Ef  ole  Maws  Titefist 
see  dat !  Glory  !  "  and  Mansa  would  bring  her  chubby  hands 
down  on  her  knees  and  laugh  from  the  topmost  kink  of  her 
hair  down  to  the  end  of  her  toes.  "  Not  dat  I'ze  proud,  honey  ; 
you  knows  dat.  Clah  ter  goodness,  ef  I  don't  want  ter  jist  git 
spraddled  on  de  hoss  every  time  I  sees  it.  But  jist  to  think  of 
this  yeah  chile  in  a  kerridge,  an'  nuffinter  do  all  day  long,  an' 
all  day  long,  but  ter  laugh  an'  git  fat.  It  just  makes  me 
think,  shoa  'nuff,  of  de  day  when  we  got  out  de  kears  on 
de  Macon  road,  an'  I  got  in  the  bush,  and  I  heahs  ole  Maws 
Titefist.  Guy!  honey!  I  heahs  him  now!  Deed  I  does. 
'  Whah  the  debil  my  she  niggah!  '  'Clah  to  goodness,  honey, 
hain't  de  good  Lawd  done  make  change.  Little  yeah  ago 
hidin'  in  de  brush  an'  old  Maws  sloshing  round  fo'  him  she 
niggah,  and  now  ridin'  in  my  own  kirridge  and  holdin'  my 
sides  to  keep  from  bustin'  at  de  fun!  Mine  you,  honey!  now 
you  mine  your  eye.  Some  day  you'll  come  here  an'  find  I'ze 
just  done  bust  and  blow'd  up  wid  ticklin'  at  de  fun.  Jupe 
says  I  ort  to  larn.  Ilim  done  dat  !  'Clah  to  goodness,  honey, 
ef  he  hain't  larned  the  laugh  clar  out  of  him.  'Deed  he  has, 
honey.  Larned  and  larned  till  him  got  great  big  scrotches 
about  the  eyes  and  across  him  forehead.  Reckon  dat's  whah 
de  larnin  goes  in  and  pull  de  skin  in  arter  it.  But  what's 
de  use  ob  dat,  honey?  I'd  rader  hab  one  good  laugh  than 
fohty  larnins.     'Deed  I  would.     Ef  I  couldn't  laugh  I'd  jist 


339 

want  the  good  Mawstah  up  yandah  to  say,  "  Now,  you  Mansa, 
you  jist  come  heah  whali  dey's  plenty  laugh!  " 

This  afternoon,  when  Mansa  heard  Lindy  Ratley's  story, 
the  laugh  died  away  from  her  lips. 

"  Good  Lawd,  honey,  yer  don't  think  they'd  hurt  Jupe  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will." 

"  Why,  honey,  he  'um  nebbah  done  nothiii'  to  nobody. 
He  'um  been  honest  and  wucked  hawrd,  and  got  dis  yeah 
stretch  o'  land,  and  he  gives — " 

Then  Mansa  remembered  that  even  Mrs.  Ratley  had  been 
a  recipient  of  their  bounty,  and  she  paused.  There  was  a 
current  of  delicacy  running  through  this  woman's  rudeness. 
Sweet  flowers  will  grow  among  rocks,  and  spring  out  of  the 
wilderness. 

Mrs.  Ratley  took  up  and  finished  the  sentence.  "I  know 
Jupiter  has  been  generous,  but  I  reckon  that  won't  stop  '  Yal- 
ler  Jim'  and  them  others.  Maybe  it's  worse.  I  reckon  they 
don't  like  to  see  a  black  man  get  on." 

"  In  de  o^ood  Lawd's  name  what's  I  o-wine  ter  do  ?  " 

Advising  was  not  a  forte  of  Lindy  Ratley. 

Then  Mansa  told  her. 

She  knew  she  could  trust  Lindy. 

The  whites  were  to  have  a  big  meeting  in  town,  day  and 
night,  and  the  bUicks  who  had  been  waiting  an  opportunity 
when  the  attention  of  the  white  men  would  be  diverted  from 
them  had  secretly  called  a  meeting  for  that  night,  in  the 
country. 

It;  was  some  miles  away. 

The  colored  people  were  to  go  to  it  avoiding  the  roads, 
and  Jupiter  had  already  gone. 

When  Mansa  had  told  all  she  knew  of  the  meeting  she 
asked,  "  Does  you  think,  honey,  I'd  best  send  to  him?" 

"I  reckon!" 

That  was  all  Lindy  could  say.     It  was  all  she  did  say. 

Mansa  turned  the  matter  over  in  her  mind.  She  did  so 
want  to  be  advised.  As  a  slave  she  was  full  of  devices.  She 
was  fertile  in  plans  for  safety.  She  needed  them  then.  x\s  a 
free  woman  Jupiter  did  the  thinking  and  Mansa  enjoyed  the 


3-iO  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

fun.  And  now  when  she  needed  wit  she  had  only  trembling, 
and  leaning  on  a  reed  that  murmured  back  to  her  "  1  reckon." 

One  of  the  colored  laborers  on  the  place  came  in.  Did  he 
know  where  Jupiter  had  gone?  No!  But  Jack  did.  Jack 
was  in  the  town  on  an  errand.  Would  return  soon.  With 
this  Mansa  was  forced  to  be  content. 

In  a  little  while  .Tack  came.     Mansa  told  the  story  to  him. 

Yes,  Jupiter  had  better  be  informed. 

He  would  go.  Didn't  know  exactly  where  the  meeting 
place  was.     But  he  could  find  it. 

Then  he  went  away.     It  was  a  long  afternoon. 

Intolerably  long. 

A  cloud  was  on  Mansa's  face. 

A  heavy  weight  was  tugging  at  her  heart. 

She  would  stand,  walk  to  the  door,  put  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  draw  a  long  breath,  half  a  sigh,  half  a  moan,  and  walk 
the  floor  in  an  aimless  way. 

During  the  afternoon  she  talked  of  the  past.  Of  her 
mammy.  When  she  was  sold  away  from  her.  Her  masters. 
Of  Jupiter.  His  escape.  Her  escape.  Every  minute  detail 
of  her  narrow  life.     And  Lindy  sat  and  listened. 

Lindy  was  silent  always. 

This  day  she  was  unusually  so. 

Siie  listened  to  Mansa's  tale  of  sorrow  and  her  note  of  tri- 
umph when  she  was  finally  united  to  her  husband  in  Savannah. 

"  And  youze  had  yer  troubles  too,  honey." 

But  Lindy's  tongue  and  face  and  eyes  were  dumb. 

Night  came. 

Midnight. 

Mansa  began  to  hope  the  peril  was  past. 

Then  a  sound  reached  their  ears. 

It  was  a  muttering  in  the  sky. 

It  grew  distinct. 

It  was  a  beating  of  many  hoofs  on  the  road. 

Then  came  voices. 

They  approached. 

They  were  singing. 

They  reached  the  gate  and  halted. 


M ansa's  fate.  341 

The  singing  continued. 
The  gate  was  opened. 

They  entered  the  garden.  Then  the  words  of  the  song  be- 
came distinct. 

"  We'll  peel  them  off  like  taitahs, 

We'll  shuck  them  off  like  cawn, 
We'll  tickle  their  backs  with  hick'ry 
Till  they  cuss  the  day  they's  bawn." 

Mansa  cowered  in  the  corner  by  the -fire-place  and  shivered. 

Lindy  walked  to  the  door  and  stood  in  the  doorway. 

Thirty  or  forty  men  w'ere  clustered  before  it,  some  in  their 
saddles,  others  dismounted. 

All  wore  black  gowns  reaching  to  their  knees,  and  black 
hoods  with  eye  holes  over  their  faces. 

The  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  called  out: 

"  Jupe,  come  out  here." 

Then  Lindy  spoke,  "  He  isn't  here." 

The  men  without  detected  the  voice  of  a  white  woman. 

In  the  dark  all  faces  were  alike. 

The  men  held  a  whispered  consultation. 

Then  they  drew  nearer. 

"See  here,  missus,"  said  the  leader,  "you'd  better  go 
home." 

"  No,  I  reckon  I  will  stay  here." 

"  We've  come  for  that  niggah  and  we're  goin'  to  have 
him." 

"  He  hasn't  been  here  since  morning  " 

"He  hain't?" 

"  No." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  He  ain't  coming  here." 

"He  ain't?" 

"I  sent  him  word  you  were  coming,  and  he  will  not  come 
here." 

"  Oh,  yer  did,  drat  ye  !  You're  a  nice  white  woman,  goin' 
about  hugger-muggin  with  niggahs." 

Lindy  was  silent. 

One  of  the  invaders  approached  the  open  door. 


342  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Lindy  stood  firm  in  the  gap. 

''  Git  out  of  the  way." 

Lindy  stood  her  ground. 

A  dozen  men  fronted  her. 

An  arm  was  raised. 

It  came  down  with  clinched  fist. 

Lindy  saw  it  raise. 

Saw  it  descending. 

She  never  moved  her  head. 

She  never  flinched. 

She  eyed  the  hand  and  the  arm. 

It  came  down.. 

Thud. 

The  blow  struck  her  square  in  her  face. 

She  neitlier  moved  nor  cried. 

She  was  a  rock  in  the  doorway. 

Then  the  hand  was  raised  again. 

Another  hand  seized  it. 

"Hold  on,  Joe.  That's  a  white  woman.  Dawg'd  ef  I'd 
do  that." 

Then  Lindy  knew  it  was  her  husband  who  had  struck  her 
a  second  time. 

Joe  was  pushed  back  and  a  dozen  hands  stretched  out  and 
seized  the  rock  in  the  door. 

Linda  was  dragged  violently  away. 

The  crowd  ran  in  and  struck  a  light. 

Jupe  was  not  there. 

But  they  found  Mansa. 

"There  ain't  no  one  here  but  the  she  niggah." 

*' Where's  Jupe?" 

Mansa's  lips  were  sealed. 

"Where's  Jupe?" 

There  was  a  blow  for  an  interrogation  point. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !     I  doan  k?K)W,  sah." 

"  You're  lying,  you ." 

Again  Mansa's  lips  were  closed. 

"  Ef  you  don't  tell  where  he  is  you'll  get  skinned." 

"  I  doan  know,  sah." 


mansa's  fate.  343 

"Drag  her  out." 

"  Peel  her." 

"  Drat  her." 

"  Flay  her." 

"  She'll  answer  hick'ry  fast  enough." 

The  hands  drew  her  to  the  door. 

They  drew  her  out  into  the  garden. 

She  looked  about  in  terror. 

Lindy  was  gone. 

A  half  score  of  men  had  surrounded  and  pushed  Lindy 
before  them  down  the  road. 

Lindy  walked  on  quietly  until  she  heard  a  scream. 

She  knew  it  was  Mansa  in  peril. 

Then  she  burst  through  the  wall  of  men  and  rushed 
back. 

When  Mansa  was  drao;o;ed  out  into  the  o;arden  she  was 
ordered  to  remove  her  clothes. 

"  Oh,  good  gentlemen,  please,  please.  Ef  you  mus'  whip 
me,  leave  my  clofes." 

"  Off,  off.     Drat  you." 

"  Shuck  'em  quick." 

Mansa  clung  to  her  garments. 

They  were  not  removed. 

They  were  torn  from  her. 

They  were  pulled  away  in  shreds. 

Mansa  pleaded,  prayed  and  wept. 

She  called  on  Heaven,  on  earth,  on  God,  but  piece  by  piece 
her  garments  were  shredded  away. 

By  the  side  of  the  graveled  walk,  a  few  yards  from  the 
door,  was  a  rustic  bench. 

In  the  struggle  to  divest  Mansa  of  her  garments,  she  had 
been  pushed  down  close  to  the  bench. 

Pelter,  the  leader,  saw  it. 

"  Ah  !  that's  the  place.  Here,  you  nig  !  Bend  over 
that !  " 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  mawstah  !  "  She 
shrank  up  with  shame. 

"  Seize  her  arms  and  le^s  and  dras:  her  over  it." 


344  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Four  men  seized  Mansa. 

One  at  eacli  wrist. 

One  at  each  ankle. 

Others  pushed. 

Mansa  was  bent  down  over  tlie  bench. 

Her  stomach  lay  upon  it. 

Two  men  sat  on  the  earth  on  one  side  of  the  bench,  grasp- 
ing her  wrists. 

Two  men  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  bench,  grasping 
her  ankles. 

Mansa  was  in  a  human  vise. 

She  was  in  the  clutches  of  four  great  hooded  and  ven- 
omous toads. 

Then  a  hickory  rod  was  raised. 

It  whizzed  througli  the  air. 

It  descended  on  Mansa's  unprotected  back. 

Mansa  shrieked. 

It  was  the  cry  that  reached  Lindy. 

With  the  fleetness  of  wind  Lindy  started  up  the  road. 

She  tore  through  the  thorny  hedge  and  rushed  into  the 
path. 

The  rod  was  raised  for  the  third  blow. 

The  maskers  were  torturing  deliberately. 

Tlien  Lindy  stood  by  Mansa,  and  flung  herself  upon  her 
nude  black  body. 

Her  action  was  so  sudden  there  was  no  time  to  arrest  the 
blow,  and  it  fell  with  tremendous,  biting  energy  upon  her 
own  back. 

But  Lindy  was  voiceless.     She  made  no  sign. 

She  simply  clung  to  Mansa. 

It  was  vain  struggling. 

What  could  one  woman  do  against  two-score  infuriate 
men  ? 

Lindy  was  dragged  away. 

Strong  men  held  her  by  the  wrists  until  she  was  led  far 
down  the  road. 

When  she  recognized  how  powerless  she  was,  Lindy  spoke 
to  her  captors. 


mansa's  fate.  345 

Even  then  there  was  neither  excitement  nor  passion  in  her 
voice  ;  not  even  a  trace  of  emotion. 

"  'Tain't  no  use,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  course  it  ain't." 

"  Well,  let  me  go  and  I'll  go  home." 

"  Shoa  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  No  fooling  ?  " 

"  No." 

The  men  released  their  hold  and  stood  in  the  road  watch- 
ino'  her. 

They  saw  her  walk  away  slowly  down  the  road,  without 
once  turning  her  face  backward  until  she  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  darkness. 

When  Lindy  was  borne  away  from  the  garden  the  beating 
was  renewed. 

Five  blows  were  struck  with  brutal  energy. 

Five  great  welts  lay  across  Mansa's  back. 

Then  there  was  a  suggestion. 

Mansa  heard  it. 

She  shivered  ! 

She  renewed  her  struggles. 

Then  she  cried  out : 

"Oh,  good  gen'lmen  !  Fo'  God's  sake  !  I'ze  only  a  po' 
nigscah,  a  po'  black  niggah  !  Beat  me,  mawstahs  !  Beat  me, 
mawstahs  !  Scoa  it  hard,  mawstahs  !  I  won't  cry  no  mo' — 
no,  mawstahs  !  Please,  mawstahs  !  So  hard  as  you  like, 
mawstahs  !  We'll  go  away,  mawstahs  !  Jupe  and  me,  maws- 
tahs !  Out  de  State,  mawstahs  !  Out  o'  de  wuld,  mawstahs  ! 
'Deed  we  will  !  'Deed  we  will,  mawstahs,  Jupe  and  me  ! 
Lick  me  hawd,  mawstahs  !  Hawd  as  yo'  like  mawstahs  !  An' 
I'll  git  Jupe  ter  come  an'  take  a  lickin',  mawstahs  !  'Deed 
him  will  !  'Deed  him  will !  But — oh  !  oh  !  mawstahs,  deah, 
good  mawstahs,  I'ze  been  an  honest  woman.  'Deed  I  has  ! 
'Deed  I  has  !  Fo'  de  Lawd  sake,  mawstahs  !  For  Gawd 
A'mighty  sake,  mawstahs — don't— do-o-n-n-'t  do  dat !  Don't 
Don't  !     Don't  !    mawstahs  !  " 

Vain  pleading  !     Mansa  was  entreating  tigers. 


346  BRISTLING    WITH    TUOKXS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PRAY    QUICK,    JOE  ! 

When  Lindy  Ratley  was  relieved  from  the  clutch  of  the 
men  who  dragged  her  forcibly  from  Mansa,  she  walked 
instantly  away  from  them. 

The  shouts,  the  laugliter,  the  profanity  of  the  "1900"  be- 
hind her,  rioted  on  the  calm  air  and  assailed  her  ears;  but  slie 
walked  steadily  on  toward  her  home. 

Only  once  she  faltered.  A  shriek  of  Mansa's  rose  above 
the  roar  of  the  mob. 

But  the  uselessness  of  resistance  occurred  to  her. 

She  knew  the  men  behind  her. 

They  were  violent  as  passion. 

They  were  unrelenting  as  destiny. 

She  understood  them  thoroughly. 

They  were  hungry  wolves  rending  their  prey. 

They  were  a  storm  unloosed. 

They  were  an  ocean  in  fury. 

iVnd  she  knew  that  no  entreaties  of  hers  could  shatter  the 
rock  of  their  will. 

She  knew  that  no  force  of  hers  could   turn   the  current  of 
their  purpose. 

She  set  her  face  resolutely  forward  and  walked  on. 

The  oaths  grew  fainter. 

The  roar  became  a  hum. 

Then  a  floating  huskiness  in  the  air. 

Then  died  out. 

The  pendicle  of  plaint  and  moan  and  bellow  no  longer 
swept  on  her  ears. 

The  pungent  fragrance  of  the  forest  pines  enveloped  her. 

The  profound  hush  of  night  wrapped  her  in. 


«*  PRAY   QUICK,    JOE  !  "  347 

But  her  nostrils  were  sealed  to  the  aroma  of  the  pines,  and 
her  senses  were  dead  to  the  solemn  calm  by  which  she  was 
surrounded. 

Walking  down  the  road,  she  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
felt  nothing,  thought  of  nothing  in  the  wide  universe  but 
Mansa,  tortured  and  suffering,  and  —  Joe,  Joe  scourging 
Mansa. 

But  her  thoughts  never  laid  hold  of  lier  limbs. 

Her  lips  were  dumb  and  motionless. 

There  was  no  blind  striking  out  with  her  arms. 

There  was  no  halting  for  thought. 

Many  do  that.  In  a  maze  their  limbs  refuse  to  move. 
Their  muscles  are  in  the  grip  of  a  dazed  mind.  They  stand. 
Then  move  on  again.  _  Their  progress  is  one  of  purposeless 
hurrying,  faltering  and  halts. 

But  Melinda  Ratley  was  not  one  of  these. 

No  threats  passed  her  lips. 

She  neither  hurried  forward  nor  halted. 

The  pace  with  which  she  started  from  her  captors  she 
maintained,  a  steady,  unhurried,  unfaltering  pace  to  the 
end. 

Her  lips  were  not  compressed. 

There  was  not  even  a  trace  of  anger  in  her  eyes. 

She  was  like  one  who  had  seen  and  forgotten. 

A  child  could  not  have  been  more  composed  as  she  turned 
from  the  road  into  the  path  in  front  of  her  own  gate. 

She  lifted  the  hook  that  held  the  gate,  entered  and  pulled 
the  gate  softly  after  her. 

Then  as  softly  she  latched  it  and  walked  toward  the 
house. 

Within  a  few  feet  of  the  front  door  there  was  a  path, 
almost  hidden  with  flowering  shrubs,  leading  around  the  end 
of  the  house  to  the  corn  crib. 

When  Melinda  reached  this  path  she  turned  into  it  with- 
out an  instant's  hesitation,  as  if  it  had  been  her  purpose  from 
the  beginning,  and  walked  on,  without  halting,  until  she 
reached  the  corn  crib.  Then  she  unlatched  the  door  and 
entered. 


348  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

In  a  few  moments  she  came  out  again  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her. 

When  Melinda  entered  the  crib  her  hands  were  empty. 

When  she  stood  out  again  in  the  moonlight  they  grasped 
a  gun. 

It  was  Joe's  rifle. 

From  the  corn  crib,  with  the  same  deliberation  of  move- 
ment, Lindy  Ratley  walked  along  the  path,  througii  the  corn- 
field in  the  rear  of  her  cabin,  toward  the  broad  belt  of  timber 
that  lay  between  her  home  and  Slimpton. 

It  was  this  path  Joe  Ratley  invariably  followed  on  his 
return  home. 

Reaching  the  skirt  of  the  forest,  Melinda  entered  it  and 
walked  on  until  she  came  to  a  spot  where  the  light  of  the 
moon  penetrated  the  tree-tops  and  shone  full  upon  the 
path. 

Then  she  paused  and  drew  herself  behind  a  tree. 

There  she  stood  motionless. 

Her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  path. 

Her  ears  were  alert  for  every  sound. 

Her  bod}^  and. limbs  were  immovable. 

Hours  passed  away. 

Her  position  was  unchanged. 

She  had  moved  neither  hand  nor  foot  since  she  paused  at 
the  tree. 

Her  eyes  had  never  moved  from  the  path. 

She  was  a  molded  purpose. 

She  was  a  statue. 

A  fate. 

Long  past  the  middle  of  the  night  Joe  Rath^y  turned  away 
from  the  "1900." 

He  entered  the  eastern  skirt  of  the  forest. 

He  stumbled  into  the  path  singing  a  ribald  song. 

His  forward  movement  was  not  rapid. 

He  was  more  than  half  drunk. 

The  scenes  of  the  night  filled  him  with  a  devilish  glee. 

They  unrolled  like  a  charming  panorama  before  his  dull 
mind. 


"  PRAY    QUICK,    JOE  !  "  349 

As  scene  after  scene  flashed  through  his  brain  he  paused 
and  slapped  his  thigh  and  roared,  "  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

Then  he  staggered  on  again. 

When  he  entered  the  little  spot  of  moonlight  beyond 
the  center  of  the  forest  he  heard  a  voice. 

It  was  soft,  and  low,  and  passionless. 

"  Joe  Ratley,  does  you  ever  pray  ?  " 

It  was  the  same  voice  that  Joe  heard  long  ago  when  he  lay 
bound  on  his  cabin  floor  under  Lindy  Ratley's  vigorous 
scouro^ino;. 

It  entered  Joe's  ears. 

His  knees  rocked  under  him. 

He  was  smitten  with  terror. 

"  Pray  Joe — yes,  pray  quick,  Joe.  YouM  best,  Joe.  I  am 
going  to  kill  you,  Joe." 

The  rifle  in  Melinda's  hand  was  raised. 

Its  muzzle  was  but  a  few  feet  from  Joe's  head. 

Joe  might  have  sprung  upon  it. 

But  Joe  was  a  coward. 

He  fell  upon  his  knees.     His  teeth  beat  a  horrible  tattoo. 

He  writhed  upon  the  ground. 

He  was  a  groveling  worm. 

Before  a  real  danger  he  was  the  spume  of  abjectness. 

"  My  Gawd,  Lindy,  you  hain't  ?" 

"Yes,  Joe.  I  must,  Joe.  I'll  give  you  till  I  count  ten. 
Till  I  count  ten,  Joe." 

"  Lindy  !     Lindy  !  " 

"  Mansa  helped  me  and  the  children,  Joe,  and  you  beat 
her  ;  beat  her,  Joe." 

"  Lindy  !  Lindy  !" 

"  And  you  ain't  fit  to  live  !  No,  Joe,  you  ain't  fit  to  live. 
Pray,  Joe  !     Pray  !  you  best !     Yes,  you  best." 

"  Lindy  !   Lindy." 

"One!" 

«  Oh  my  Gawd  !  " 

"  Two." 

"  Spare  me  ;  spar " 

"  Three." 


350  BRISTLING    WITU    THORNS. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  " 

"  Four  ! ' 

"I'll  never  agin " 

''Five!" 

"  Hurt  no  one." 

"Six." 

"I  swar  it,  Lin " 

"Seven  !" 

"I'll  give  up  the— " 

"Eight!" 

"I'll  be  yer  slave.     I—" 

"  Nine  !  " 

"  I  swar  it.     I  swa —  " 

"  Ten  !  " 

There  was  a  flash  and  a  sharp  report  ;  a  little  pufF  of 
smoke  rose  up  between  Melinda  Ratley  and  Joe,  and  the  Con- 
federate deserter  and  member  of  the  "  1900  "  rolled  over  into 
the  path. 

For  nearly  a  minute  Melinda  stood  rigid  and  silent. 

Then  seeing  that  the  body  in  the  walk  was  motionless,  she 
moved  toward  it,  laid  the  rifle  by  its  side,  and  instantly 
turned  her  face  homeward  and  walked  out  through  the  silent 
forest  and  the  field  of  corn,  never  once  looking  backward. 

The  broad  green  corn  leaves,  with  their  bedewed  surface 
glistening  in  the  moonlight,  betrayed  as  much  emotion  as  this 
woman  walking  deliberately  away  from  the  man  who  lay  with 
his  face  turned  up  to  the  sky  in  the  forest  path. 

She  neither  hurried  nor  dawdled. 

A  nighthawk  burst  away  from  a  low  lying  limb  close  before 
Tier. 

From  a  tall  deadened  pine  in  the  midst  of  the  cornfield, 
standing  a  blanched  and  solitary  ghost  of  a  forest,  the  "  hoo  ! 
hoo  !  "  of  an  owl  startled  the  calm  air. 

But  Lindy  Ratley  was  dead  to  the  rusiling  wings  and  the 
"  hoo  !  hoo  !  " 

If  she  heard,  she  made  no  sign. 

She  was  a  machine  set  with  her  face  homeward,  and  with  a 
perfect  rhythm  of  motion  she  marched  toward  it. 


"  PRAY    QUICK,    JOE  !  "  351 

Her  hands,  which  hung  listlessly  by  her  side,  moved  but 
twice. 

Then  it  was  her  right  hand. 

It  lifted  up  and  passed  slowly  across  from  right  to  left 
before  her  eyes,  as  if  to  brush  something  away.  And  fell 
slowly  back  again. 

Thus  she  reached  her  cabin  door  and  entered. 

Lindy  in  her  cabin  was  a  new  being. 

She  closed  the  door  softly  behind  her. 

A  ray  of  moonlight  stole  in  through  the  small  window 
across  the  bed  where  her  children  lay. 

One  of  the  fair,  young  heads  lay  bathed  in  its  glory. 

Lindy  drew  up  close  to  the  bedside. 

A  gentle  smile  gathered  about  her  lips. 

Her  chin  dropped  slowly  down  to  her  breast. 

Her  eyelids  drooped. 

A  gentle  light  stole  into  her  eyes. 

She  raised  one  hand  and  extended  it,  palm  down,  slowly 
over  the  sleeping  innocence  and  its  halo  of  golden  light  in 
the  bed. 

Then,  when  she  had  almost  touched  it,  she  drew  her  hand 
slowly  back  again,  walked  over  to  her  own  bed  in  another  cor- 
ner of  the  room,  lay  down  without  undressing  and  almost 
instantly  she  was  sleeping.  Sleeping  as  calmly  as  the  children 
in  the  fadinor  moonlio;ht. 

When  the  children  prepared  breakfast  in  the  morning 
Melinda  Ratley  watched  their  every  motion. 

When  the  frugal  breakfast  was  on  the  table  she  arose, 
bathed  her  hands  and  face  and  joined  them. 

When  the  children  stood  up  from  the  table  Lindy  spoke 
for  the  first  time: 

"  Children,  how  would  vou  like  to  0:0  North?" 

"To  sister  ?"  And  the  three  girls  clapped  their  hands  in 
chorus. 

These  three  girls  and  the  "  sister  "  in  the  North  were  the 
Ratley  family. 

These  and  a  babe,  that  had  died  long  ago  in  infancy,  that 
was  all. 


352  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

The  three  girls  on  the  Ratley  place  were  delighted  with  the 
prospect  of  seeing  the  sister  from  whom  they  had  never  before 
been  separated  for  a  day.. 

Hearing  no  response  from  their  mother,  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters repeated.- 

"To  sister,  mamma?" 

"  Anywhere  North,  children  !  " 

"Oh,  yes,  mamma;  but  let  us  go  to  sister." 

"  I  have  money,"  said  one. 

*'  And  I  !  "  added  the  second. 

"  We  have  all  money,  saved  from  the  mill,"  exclaimed  the 
third. 

"And  you  have  some,  mamma?"  asked  the  oldest. 

"  Yes." 

"  When  shall  we  go?  " 

"  Now." 

"  This  day?"  exclaimed  the  surprised  girl. 

"  Now." 

"  Immediately." 

"  Now." 

Melinda  spoke  in  torpid  monosyllables,  looking  up  from  her 
seat  at  the  ta])le. 

"This  minute?  "  asked  all  of  the  wondering  children  in 
chorus. 

*'  Yes." 

It  was  but  one  word  tranquilly  uttered,  but  they  all  under- 
stood it.  Perhaps  they  thought  it  was  useless  to  ask  ques- 
tions. Perhaps  in  their  joy  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  sister 
they  forgot  to  ask.  But  they  asked  none.  The  oldest  daugh- 
ter moved  toward  one  of  the  beds  and  began  to  roll  it  over. 
Her  mother  noticed  the  movement. 

"  You  need  not." 

The  daughter  released  her  hold  of  the  bed  and  looked  up 
at  her  mother  with  some  surprise. 

"  Not  take  this   mamma?  "  she  asked.    • 

"  No." 

"  What  shall  we  take,  mamma?  " 

*'What  clothes  we  can  carry  in  bundles." 


"  PRAY    QUICK,    JOE  !  "  353 

The  children  picked  out  the  best  garments  and  hastily  tied 
them  up.  Melinda  took  nothing  but  a  change  of  undergar- 
ments. In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  four  women  stood  in  the 
cabin  door  with  bundles  in  their  hands.  As  the  children 
stepped  out  into  the  path,  Melinda  spoke: 

"  You  walk  on  down  the  road,  children,  I'll  be  up  with  you 
in  a  minute." 

The  girls  faced  down  the  path. 

Melinda  entered  the  house  and  went  to  the  loft. 

There  before  her  was  a  rude,  board  cradle.  ^ 

In  it  she  had  rocked  the  little  babe  of  long  ago.  The  lost 
link  of  her  young  wifehood.  Night  after  night  she  saw  it  far 
away.  Oh,  ever  so  far.  She  reached  out  to  it.  It  was  a  star. 
It  was  a  fleecy  cloud.  It  was  a  ray  of  moonlight.  But  it  was 
there.  And  it  was  a  babe  yet.  Not  thin  and  wan  as  when 
she  laid  it  away  from  sight.  Not  with  a  cold  damp  on  its  white 
brow  as  when  it  last  lay  on  her  breast,  but  bright  and  glorified. 
And  last  night  she  lost  it.  The  moon  hid  it.  The  stars  ob- 
scured it.  The  babe,  the  glory,  where  had  it  gone?  Where? 
But  it  would  come  back.  Yes.  It  would  come  back.  And 
that  was  its  cradle — when  was  it?  Oh,  so  long;  so  long  ago. 
And  Melinda  knelt  down  beside  it;  knelt  reverently  down 
and  laid  her  face  against  it;  laid  her  head  where  the  baby's 
head  had  lain  and  kissed  it  softly  and  reverently.  Then 
she  chipped  a  little  piece  from  the  side  of  the  cradle  where 
the  baby  hands  had  touched,  and  wrapping  it  in  her  hand- 
kerchief she  pushed  it  away  in  her  bosom. 

After  this  she  pressed  her  lips  to  a  little  spot  where  the 
baby  fingers  had  rested  long  ago,  a  little  spot  covered  with 
dust,  and  stood  up  and  went  out  of  the  loft,  out  of  the  house, 
down  the  walk,  through  the  gate  and  joined  her  daughters  in 
the  road.  And  the  four  women,  with  bundles  in  their  haads, 
faced  the  North  star. 


354  BRISTLING    WITH    TIlOENS. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR    AND    MORASS. 

The  blacks  .throughout  the  entire  county  were  profoundly 
agitated.  The  articles  in  the  Buzzer  and  the  changed  temper 
of  the  people  had  disturbed  them.  Still  they  had  hoped — hoped 
it  was  a  passing  storm  that  would  soon  spend  its  fury.  Now, 
suddenly,  their  meetings  were  broken  up  and  a  tempest  of 
threatenings,  whippings  and  deaths  burst  upon  them. 

What  would  they  do? 

What  could  they  do?  In  every  community  there  are  men 
who  are  light-houses  in  a  storm.     There  were  there. 

Jupiter  Saltire  was  the  light-house  to  whom  all  on  the 
troubled  sea  looked. 

The  ignorant  slave  had  grown  into  a  tower  of  knowledge 
and  judgment. 

That  is  strength. 

Negroes  whispered  it  from  one  to  another:  "  What  do  Ju- 
pitah  Saltiah  say?'* 

They  soon  heard  and  whispered  that, 

"  We  must  meet  and  determine.  There  must  be  agree- 
ment and  unity  of  action." 

That  was  what  he  said. 

But  how  meet? 

The  hawks  were  in  the  air,  and  every  movement  of  the 
negroes  noted. 

There  is  a  ford  to  every  river,  a  bridge  to  every  difficulty. 

It  was  found  in  this. 

The  whites  were  to  have  a  great  meeting  at  Slimpton,  day 
and  evening. 

That  was  the  colored  man's  opportunity. 


THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR   AND    MORASS.  355 

Immediately  that  Jupiter  knew  of  it  he  sent  out  runners 
to  every  part  of  the  county. 

The  order  for  the  negro  meeting  was  but  a  whisper,  yet  it 
ran  through  the  county.  In  twenty-four  hours  every  promi- 
nent negro  knew  of  it;  the  day,  the  place  and  the  methods  of 
reaching  it. 

Among  the  blacks  it  Avas  an  open  secret. 

Among  the  whites  it  was  unsuspected. 

On  the  appointed  day  the  whites  filled  the  roads  with  tu- 
mult, with  rioting,  shouting  and  song. 

A  crowd  of  blacks  went  too. 

They  were  of  the  multitude  who  looked  for  guidance,  and 
they  went  to  the  white  meeting  under  direction  of  their 
leaders. 

Their  presence  was  a  blind  to  turn  away  suspicion  from 
the  secret  meeting  of  the  blacks. 

On  one  side  of  the  county  is  a  river. 

It  runs  away  from  the  county. 

Then  suddenly  turns  and  rolls  back  upon  it. 

The  river  is  a  broad,  silvery  elbow,  fringed  with  a  thick- 
set growth  of  Cottonwood. 

Back  from  the  fringe  is  a  dense  growth  of  heavy-trunked, 
broad- spreading  oaks,  festooned  with  moss. 

In  the  heart  of  this  timber  there  was  once  a  dwelling  which 
disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  flare  of  light,  and  the 
river  closing  in  upon  it  the  site  was  abandoned.  One  rem- 
nant of  residence  alone  remained — a  long,  low  warehouse,  hid 
away,  reeking  with  moisture,  under  broad  branches  and  pendant 
moss,  a  home  for  bats  and  owls. 

This  was  the  old  Moncore  cotton  house. 

The  whites  headed  toward  Slimpton,  courting  the  bright 
sun,  and  followed  by  clouds  of  dust. 

All  through  the  night  before,  throughout  the  entire  county, 
dusky  forms  were  gliding  along  the  paths  and  by-roads, 
through  bramble  and  briar  and  morass,  and  during  the  day, 
too,  but  with  more  caution,  and  seeking  the  depths  of  the 
forests,  toward  the  elbow  in  the  river. 

They  began  arriving  early  in  the  morning. 


OOG  BRISTLING    AVITII    THORNS. 

All  day  long  the  tide  rolled  in  steadily. 

Men  sprang  out  of  trees;  out  of  clumps  of  bushes;  out  of 
the  earth;  and  still  silently,  stealthily,  they  came. 

At  night,  between   two   and  three  hundred  were  gathered. 

Men  of  every  shade,  from  clear  white  to  pure  African — but 
all  negroes. 

Every  crevice  of  the  old  building  was  stuffed  with 
moss. 

Four  sticks  were  driven  into  the  earth  at  one  end  of  the 
building. 

They  were  table  posts. 

On  top  of  them  a  board  was  laid. 

Thus  a  table  was  made. 

That  was  the  president's  desk. 

On  this  four  candles  were  placed. 

For  candlesticks  they  had  sweet  potatoes. 

When  the  candles  were  lighted  men  searclied  the  building 
round  and  round  on  the  outside  to  see  if  one  ray  of  light  pene- 
trated the  walls. 

When  they  were  satisfied  a  number  of  the  least  important 
of  the  blacks  were  sent  far  out  into  the  woods,  making  a  chain 
of  visrilance  across  the  neck  of  timber. 

Then  the  meeting  began. 

It  was  a  solemn-faced  assemblage,  scarcely  speaking  above 
its  breath. 

The}^  began  by  calling  upon  the  Lord  to  give  them  wisdom. 

Then  an  old  colored  man  stood  up. 

"  Brethren,  I  don't  know  what's  best.  1  don't  know  as  any 
of  us  does.  But  we  can  talk  it  over,  brethren.  It's  the  mul- 
titude of  sticks  that  make  a  cabin,  brethren.  [Dat's  de  ole 
man.]  Let  us  put  our  sticks  in  the  heap  and  the  good  Maw- 
stah  in  heaven  will  tell  us  how  to  put  them  together.  [Oh! 
oh  !  An'  you  hoar  him  !]  We  know,  brothers,  what  has  done 
come  to  us.  [0-h-h-h.]  We  was  free.  [Glory.]  May  be  we 
was  too  put  up  with  our  freedom.  [Oh I  oh  !]  We  thought  the 
day  of  trouble  was  done  passed.  [Um-m-m.]  We  thought 
we  had  entered  the  promised  land.  [Laws!  Laws!  Does 
ye  hear  'im.]     And  now,  brethren,  tliey  tell   us   we   must  quit 


THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR    AND    MORASS.  357 

off  the  Republican  party.  [Oh!  oh  !]  They  have  whipped 
some  of  our  brethren  most  awful.  [Dear  Lawd.]  They  have 
shot,  [dat  dey  has,]  and  they  have  beat,  [0-h-o!]  and  they 
have  killed,  [deah  Lawd!]  and  they  tell  we  that  is  only  the  be- 
ginning; [um-m-m!]  a  little  drop  before  the  big  storm.  [Lawd! 
Lawd!]  Oh,  my  brethren,  if  that  is  all  these  dreadful  doings 
is,  [0-h-o-o-o  !]  if  this  blood  that  has  been  spilled  is  only  a  lit- 
tle drop,  what  will  be  the  big  rain?  [A  prolonged  oh,  filled 
the  building.]  I  am  an  ole  man  now,  brethren.  [Dat  you  is, 
daddy.]  I've  passed  through  the  fiah  of  mo'  than  seventy 
year,  [shoa !  shoa  !]  a  little  mo'  or  a  little  less  to  the  ole  man 
[po'  ole  daddy]  is  nothing,  brethren.  [Moas'  home!  Deed  he 
is.]  I  can  stan'  it.  [Po'  daddy.]  I  have  suffered  [dat  you  have 
daddy,]  and  I  can  suffer.  [De  Lawd  !]  But  I  think  of  the 
young.  [0-h-h!]  For  myself  I  would  submit.  [S-c-c-c-ch!] 
I  would  lay  done  the  vote  [no!  no!  Nebah!  nebah!]  and 
say, '  White  mawstahs  [d'ain't  no  mawstahs]  do  as  you  will.' 
[No  !  no  !  no  !  no  !]  But,  brethren,  there  is  the  young  ! 
[Dat's  it,  daddy.]  There  is  the  young  !  [Dat's  it.]  What 
will  become  of  them  if  we  give  up  the  vote?  [Now  yer  talk- 
ing. Heah  de  man.]  Brethren,  I  don't  say  fight,  [oh  !]  I  don't 
say  give  up,  [oh  !]  but  I  do  say  whatever  you  agree  upon, 
think  of  the  young!  [Glory  !]  Think  of  the  young  !  [Glory!] 
I  trembles.  [Po'  ole  man.]  I  does,  brethren,  when  I  think  of 
the  past.  [Po'  ole  daddy.]  When  I  think  of  the  lash  [um-m-m!] 
and  the  dog,  [um-m-m  !]  And  I  pray  the  Lawd  to  save  these 
young  people  from  going  down  into  the  same  drefful  jaws." 
[Dat's  de  ole  man!     Glory,  daddy  !] 

On  the  motion  of  Jupiter  Saltire  a  committee  was  ap- 
pointed. 

The  committee  acted  promptly. 

They  reported  a  resolution. 

''  Resolved,  That  we  stand  by  the  Republican  ticket.  That 
we  will  vote  it  whenever  we  can  without  meeting  certain 
death.  That  we  will  adhere  to  the  Republican  party  at  all 
hazards,  and  secure  our  lawful  rights  peaceably  if  we  can,  and 
failing  that  we  will  appeal  to  the  conscience  and  humanity  of 
the  entire  country,  believing  that  public  opinion  will  ultimately 


358  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

correct  the  abuses  that  threaten  us,  and  secure  us  or  our  chil- 
dren full  rights  under  the  laws." 

Several  voices,  some  of  them  pitched  in  wrathful  tones, 
called  for  the  reading  of  the  resolution  again. 

It  was  read. 

Then  a  tall  Ijlack  man  strode*  forward  out  of  the  gloom 
to  the  speaker's  desk. 

Behind  was  a  sea  of  faces. 

In  the  dim  light  it  was  a  black  wave  with  flashing  eyes 
floating  on  its  surface. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  don't  like  dat  resolution  of  the  brother's. 
[Dat's  de  word  wid  de  bark  on  !]  It's  all  coon  squall.  [Jis  so  ! 
Jis  so  !]  Yes,  sah  !  [Youze  right,  Mistah  Stoutah  !]  That's 
what  it  is  [Dat's  so  !  Glory  !],  and  mighty  young  coon  at 
dat  !  [Jiss  heah  de  man.]  Please  good  mawstah  white  man 
[Gui  !  O,  de  Stoutah  !],  please  let  me  [ugh  !]  ;  if  ye  don't 
please,  I'll  snifile  a  little  [Jiss  heah  dat  !]  an'  I'll  grin  and  b'ar 
it  [oh — O  !],  and  call  on  the  Lawd.  [Did  ye  ebbah  heah 
de  likes  o'  dat !]  Dat  ain't  no  way.  [Sure  !  Sure  !]  When 
yer  tells  a  tyrant  you's  gwine  ter  grin  and  b'ar  it  and  call 
on  the  Lawd  he'll  crunch  yer  with  his  fist  [Dat's  so !  Dat's 
so  !]  and  tell  yer  ter  grin.  [Does  ye  heah  his  horn  !]  An* 
he'll  crunch  yer  under  his  heel  [Dat  de  trumpet  !]  an'  tell 
ye  to  bar  it.  [So,  Bruddah  Stoutah.]  And  dey'll  blow  yer 
head  oflf  wid  a  powdah  hawn  [Oh-h-h!]  as  dey  did  de  odder 
night  [U-m-m-m  !],  and  den  tell  yer  how  yer  gwine  ter  call  on 
the  Lawd  den.  [D  a-a  Lawd  !]  De  Lawd  ain't  no  fool,  bred- 
ren.  [Oh,  heah  de  man  !]  Yer  can't  put  chicken  squall  on 
de  Lawd  for  de  crow  of  gaffed  roostah.  [Ho  !  Ho  !  Hi  !]  No 
sahs  !  Who  you  think  the  Lawd  help  ?  Does  yer  think  the 
Lawd's  gwine  ter  hill  up  cotton,  less  some  man  handles  the 
hoe  ?  [Dah's  glory  for  ye.]  Does  yer  think  the  Lawd's 
gwine  ter  fotch  down  the  coon  less  some  man  holes  the  gun. 
[Dat's  de  Lawd's  truth  !]  Ef  yer  does  yer  fool'd  !  [Shoa  ! 
Shoa  !]  Dat's  it,  sah,  mighty  fooled.  [Dat's  so  !]  De  Lawd 
helps  the  men  wid  de  hoe  and  de  gun.  [Shoa  as  you  bawn  !] 
De  Lawd  helps  de  man  dat  won't  grin  an'  bar  it.  ['Clah. 
'Clah !  dat  man  knows  a  power  !]     De  Lawd  hates  a  whine 


THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR    AND    MORASS.  359 

[Eh  !  Eh  !]  Dat's  so  !  De  Lawd  iievah  put  legs  under  a  snivel 
in  de  world.  [What  dat  ?]  Nevah  in  de  world,  sah.  [Oh-o.] 
An'  I'm  'sposed  !  Yes,  sah  !  most  perfect  composed  to  dat  'Please 
good  mawstah  white  man.'  I'ze  had  'nuif  o'  dat.  [Me,  too  ;  me, 
too.  Glory  !]  It  nevah  brought  no  answer  but  a  lash.  [Dat's 
Gawd's  truth.]  An'  I  ain't  gwine  to  hab  no  mo'  of  it.  [Dah's  de 
music]  No,  sah  !  Dey  have  no  mo'  right  to  deny  we  de  suf- 
ferin'  (suffrage)  dan  we  hab  to  deny  dem.  [Oh,  O,  Glory.] 
Dey  has  no  mo'  right  to  break  up  ouah  meetings  dan  we  have 
to  break  up  dey'as.  [Oh  !  O,  Glory !]  Dey  has  no  mo'  right  to 
hickory  we  uns  dan  we  uns  hab  to  hickory  dem.  [Ki-ki  ki ! 
Hear  de  man.]  Dey  hab  no  mo'  right  to  shoot  we  dan  we  hab 
to  shoot  dem.  [Fo'  de  Lawd.]  Ain't  dat  so,  sah  ?  Ain't  dat 
so,  bruddahs  ?  " 

"Dat's  so!   Dat's  so !  "  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 

"But,"  asked  an  aged  colored  man,  "what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  Do !  Jist  heah  dat  ?  Heah  de  bruddah !  Dat's  mo' 
please  good  mawstah  white  man  !  Do,  sah  !  Dey  ain't  no 
tellin'  how  pudding  tastes  till  ye  put  it  in  yer  mouf,  is  dah  } 
[No!  no!  no!]  Yer  can  see  'em  an'  smell  'em,  but  dat  ain't 
no  taste.  No,  sah  !  [Oh-o !]  Ef  dey  cook  puddin  for  we, 
dey  must  eat  it.  [Um-m.]  Dat's  it,  sah,  make  'em  eat  it. 
[Oh-h-h  !]     Den  sah  dey'll  know  how  it  taste." 

"  Dat's  de  way." 

"  Dat's  the  trumpet."     "  Oh-o  !  " 

"  Does  the  brother  mean,"  asked  the  former  interrupter, 
"  to  return  lash  for  lash  and  bullet  for  bullet  ?  " 

"  No,  sah  !  No,  sah !  Not  dat  way,  sah  !  I  has  a  mo' 
general  (generous)  sperit  dan  dat,  sah !  I'ze  fah  bettah 
pay  dan  dat,  sah!  [What  dat  ?]  I'ze  fo'  gibbing  dem  two  fo' 
one,  sah,  five  fo'  one,  sah  !  I'ze  fo'  stuffin  dey  moufs  chuck  up 
full  of  dey  own  puddin,  and  let  'em  see  how  dey  likes  de 
taste  !  " 

The  meeting  was  in  instant  uproar. 

''  Oh  !   oh  !  " 

"  That's  it !  " 

"  Glory  !  " 


3G0  BKISTLIXG    WITH    TIIOKNS. 

''  No  !  no  !  " 

"  Never  do  in  the  world." 

"  Smite  one  cheek,  turn  tlie  other." 

"  Bah  !  " 

"  Clieek-turners  are  always  getting  cuffed." 

"  Hallelujah  !  " 

These  were  the  sounds  that  came  up  from  all  quarters  of 
the  house. 

The  crowd  was  closely  packed  about  the  president's  stand. 

It  was  in  upheaval. 

It  ejected  a  young  mulatto. 

The  black  sea  turned  its  floating  lights  upon  him. 

His  oiled  locks  clung  close  to  his  head. 

A  broad,  white  collar  assailed  and  threatened  his  ears. 

A  huge  breast-pin  was  spread  out  on  his  bosom. 

He  was  crying  out  : 

"  Mistah  President  !     Mistah  President  !  " 

The  chairman  noticed  him 

"  Ah,  brothers,  ordah  !  ordah  !  Mistah  Jackson  has  de 
floah  ! " 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  wave. 

"  Mistah  President,  I  rises  in  my  place,  sah,  for  the  pur- 
pose to  ax,  sah  !  of  the  distincwish  cheerman  of  dis  yeah  meet- 
ing, sah,  with  the  perfoundest  respec,  sah,  where  is  de  arms? 
Dat's  de  question  of  de  occasion,  sah  !     Where  is  de  arms  ?" 

"  What  you  want  o'  guns  ? "  cried  a  voice  out  of  the 
dark. 

"Mistah  Jackson  "  turned  on  the  voice. 

'*  I  don't  banty  no  words  wid  you,  sah  !  " 

"  Coase  not,"  answered  the  voice.  "  Dey  ain't  no  banty 
'bout  you  'cept  the  legs  !  " 

"  Ordah,  gentlemen  !  "  cried  the  chairman,  *' dat  ain't  de 
way  to  cherish  one  annudder." 

Then  turning  to  Jackson  : 

"  What  arms  you  ax  for,  Breeah  Jackson  ?  " 

"  Mistah  Cheerman,  I  rises  with  perfoundest  respec, 
sah,  to  infaum  you  knowledge,  sah,  dat  I  reads  de  papahs, 
sah  !  " 


THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR    AND    MORASS.  361 

The  chairman  nodded. 
"An'  I  see  in  de  voracious  Buzzer  of  Slimpton,  sah,  dat  up 
Nawth  dey  has  sole  a  pile  of  wooden  hams,  sah,  and  bought  a 
stack  of  guns,  sah,  for  dis  yeah  occasion,  sah  ! " 

A  low  laugh  ran  round  the  room. 

Then  the  chairman  explained. 

The  Buzzer  story  was  all  fudge.  Circulated  to  excite  and 
rouse  weak-kneed  whites.     It  was  entirely  false. 

A  lie,  manufactured  out  of  whole  cloth. 

They  had  sent  no  arms  and  would  send  none. 

The  shirt-collar  and  oily  head  subsided. 

In  their  place  stood  a  short,  stout  black  man. 

"  Mistah  Chawman,  I'ze  bin  heahin'  dis.  I'ze  clah  ter  Gawd 
I 'wish  I  wus  a  slabe  agin." 

A  prolonged  groan  rose  out  of  the  dark. 

A  score  of  angry  faces  were  pushed  close  up  to  the 
speaker. 

"  Traitah  !  " 

"  Cowa'd  !  " 

"  Sneak  !  " 

"  Misable  niggah  fool  !  " 

"  I  clah  ter  Gawd,  I  does  !     I  does  !  " 

"  Ter  be  sole  !  " 

*'  Wife  sole  away  !  " 

"  Lashed  !  " 

"  Fool  niggah  !  '- 

"  Lost  him  sense  !  " 

"  Breeren,  I  wus  a  eighteen  hunder  dollah  niggah,  I 
wus.  Yes,  sah !  Dey  takes  keer  o'  eighteen  hunder 
dollah  niggahs,  they  uns  does.  No  one  slash  me  den 
but  mawstah.  I  ain't  afeard  o'  slashin'  den.  I  ain't  afeard 
o'  shootin'  den.  Dey  uns  ain't  fools  to  burn  eighteen  hunder 
dollah  niggahs  in  shot  guns.  Now  I  owns  myself  I  ain't  wuth 
nothin'  ter  no  one.  Dey  slashes  and  dey  shoots.  Slabery's 
bad,  yas,  sah,  mitey  bad,  pow'ful  bad,  an'  I  prayed  de  Lawd 
foh  de  freedom.  Now,  breeren,  it  am  come,  an'  I'ze  wus  dan 
befo,'  an'  I  pray  tu  God  dat  I  wur  a  slabe  again,  wuth  eighteen 
hunder  dollah  ter  some  white  man." 


302  BKISTLING     WITH    THuKNS. 

Then  he  paused,  amid  hisses  and  groans. 

Other  speakers  came. 

They  denounced  tlie  man  who  prayed  for  slavery. 

Some  advocated  the  resolution. 

Some  opposed  it. 

Then  Jupiter  Saltire  was  called. 

All  desired  to  know  his  views. 

Jupiter  was  a  shrewd  politician. 

Too  shrewd  to  wear  himself  out  on  the  picket  line. 

In  leti^islative  and  all  other  deliberative  assemblages,  the 
men  whose  tongues  are  in  the  dish  in  all  stages  of  preparation 
liave  no  mouth  for  the  rounding-up  desert. 

The  honors  <xo  the  men  who  wait  and  come  in  at  the 
finish. 

Jupiter  could  wait. 

He  had  waited. 

He  waited  this  night  until  he  was  called. 

Then  he  was  listened  to  with  breathless  attention. 

He  went  calmly  over  the  ground. 

He  spoke  of  their  rights  and  their  wrongs. 

He  drew  his  audience  slowly  along  with  him. 

Then  he  came  to  the  remedies  offered — patience  and 
retaliation. 

"  Now,  my  brethren,"  he  proceeded,  "  what  can  we  gain 
by  retaliation  ?  We  complain  that  they  violate  the  law. 
While  we  stand  there,  stand  demanding  justice  under  the  law, 
we  have  the  conscience  of  being  right,  and  faith  that  in  God's 
time  the  wrong  will  fall  in  the  wine-press  of  Divine  wrath. 
But,  brethren,  if  we  take  to  retaliation,  we  are  no  longer  in 
the  right.  We,  too,  become  violators  of  the  law.  We  become 
guilty  of  the  crimes  we  charge  against  the  whites.  Can  we 
ask  God  to  bless  us  in  this  ?  [No  !  no  !  no  !  ]  No,  my  unfor- 
tunate, persecuted  brethren,  we  can  not  !  [Dat's  so.]  Can 
we  ask  the  sympathy  of  our  countrymen  and  of  the  civilized 
world?  [Dahs  de  sense.]  No,  my  crushed  and  despised 
friends,  we  can  not  [dat's  so],  and  we  will  not  receive  it. 
Brethren,  wrongs  may  be  remedied  by  lawful  resistance  ;  but 
no  wrong  ever  found  its  remedy  in  retaliation  ;    never.     [Oh, 


THROUGH    BRAMBLE,    BRIAR    AND    MORASS.  363 

heah  de  wise  man.]  But,  my  brethren,  if  we  were  so  evil- 
minded,  what  good  would  it  do?  What  good  would  follow  it  ? 
The  first  blow  we  struck  for  revenge  would  only  call  in  the 
hawks;  our  first  blow  would  be  a  signal  that  would  call  in 
every  white  man  from  x\labama  and  Louisiana,  and  from  all 
the  neighboring  counties.  [Shoa  !  shoa  !  shoa  !  ]  The  rail- 
roads are  in  their  hands  [dat's  so],  and  all  the  means  of  con- 
veyance. They  hold  the  telegraph,  and  all  the  means  of  rapid 
communication.  They  own  the  arms.  They  have  full  control 
of  every  engine  of  speed  and  force.  [Shoa  !  shoa  !  shoa  !  ] 
They  can  come  ;  they  will  come  ['deed  dey  will],  and  we 
alone,  without  means  of  securing  aid  —  we,  if  we  raise  our 
hands  in  retaliation,  would  be  wiped  out  in  blood  ['deed  we 
would];  crushed  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  [Oh-h-h  !]  And 
our  wrongs  would  not  end  with  us;  they  would  be  hurled  back 
upon  our  inoffensive  brethren  in  every  part  of  the  South. 
[Lawd  !  Lawd  !  Lawd  !]  For  these  reasons,  my  brethren, 
I  hope  we  will  pass  the  resolution  and  abide  by  it." 

Jupiter  paused. 

A  breathless  silence  followed. 

Then  the  chairman  asked  : 

"  Brethren,  are  you  ready  for  the  question  ?  " 

The  breathless  silence  continued. 

"  All  in  favor  of  the  resolutions  reported  by  the  committee 
will  say  'Aye.' " 

A  low  "Aye" — a  murmur,  no  more— floated  up  on  the 
surface  of  the  wave. 

"  All  opposed  say  '  No  ! '" 

There  was  no  response. 

"  Is  any  brother  opposed  to  the  resolutions  ?  "     • 

Silence  was  the  only  answer. 

Then  there  was  a  commotion  in  the  back  end  of  the 
building. 

It  was  a  messenger  for  Jupiter  Saltire. 

The  man  came^in. 

It  was  .lack. 

He  told  his  st(3ry, 

A  few  discreet  friends  heard  it. 


3G4  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIUKXS. 

They  advised  Jupiter  not  to  go  home. 
Tliat  was  Mansa's  request. 

"Yes  !     He  must  go.     They  might  })eat  Mansa." 
The  strong  man  shivered  as  he  said  it. 
Volunteers  to  go  with  him  were  numerous. 
"  No  !     Numbers  can  do  no  good." 

Saying  this  and  thanking  his  friends  he  turned  and  hurried 
away  with  a  tiiorn  of  anxiety  probing  his  soul. 


"  po'  JUPE  !  'V  365 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

PO'    JUPE  ! 

Jupiter  strode  away  from  the  meeting  in  the  forest  with 
Jack  hurrying  at  his  side.  For  a  few  score  yards  he  was 
followed  by  several  of  his  prominent  colored  friends — followed 
in  an  aimless  sort  of  a  way.  They  had  no  intention  of  going 
on  with  him  to  his  home.  They  knew  that  to  do  so  would 
be  entirely  useless.  They  knew  they  could  neither  advise 
nor  aid  him,  and  yet  they  followed  until  Jupiter  was  lost 
to  sight  under  the  shadow  of  the  broad  spreading  oaks. 
When  he  was  no  longer  in  view  they  paused,  paused  and 
gazed  silently  into  the  dark,  paused  and  thought  and  won- 
dered what  would  be  the  outcome  of  it  all.  Usually  voluble 
of  words,  they  stood  silent  and  looked.  They  were  dazed  in 
the  presence  of  the  impending  danger.  Each  felt  for  himself 
how  entirely  impotent  and  helpless  he  was. 

The  threat  that  assailed  Jupiter  reached  them  all. 

It  was  him  now. 

It  mio^ht  be  either  of  them  to-morrow  or  to-night. 

Where  was  there  safety  ? 

Where  was  there  a  refuge  ? 

How  could  they  escape  ? 

They  looked  and  listened  until  the  retreating  feet  of 
Jupiter  ceased  to  disturb  the  stillness  about  them.  Then, 
with  audible  sighs,  and  more  than  one  exclaiming  "  Dear 
Lawd  "  and  "  Hebin  presarb  we,"  they  turned  and  walked 
slowly  back  to  the  whispering,  awe-struck  crowd  at  the  cotton 
house. 

W^hile  they  were  looking  and  listening  Jupiter  was  hurry- 
ing forward. 

For  the  first  mile  Jack  kept  pace  with  him,  running  on 
by  his  side. 


36G  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

If  Jupiter  knew  that  he  was  there,  he  made  no  sign. 

His  wide  open  eyes  penetrated  the  dark  before  iiini. 

He  neither  turned  his  head  to  the  right  nor  the  left. 

He  spoke  not  one  word. 

Some  men  would  have  asked  questions. 

Some  would  iiave  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  interrogations: 
".Tack,  do  you  think  they  will  do  this?"  ".Jack,  do  you 
think  they  will  do  that?" 

But  what  response  could  Jack  have  made  to  any  ques- 
tioning. 

He  could  only  have  answered  notliing. 

He  could  know  no  more  than  the  questioner. 

Jupiter  knew  tliis. 

For  facts  he  would  have  inquired. 

But  surmising  was  profitless. 

And  that  is  all  Jack  could  have  returned  to  volleys  of 
questioning. 

Hence  Jupiter  asked  nothing  but  strode  on  in  silence. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  mile  Jupiter  was  alone. 

Jack  was  unequal  to  his  vigorous  pace. 

It  was  not  Jack's  Mansa  who  was  in  danger. 

It  was  Jupiter's  Mansa,  and  Jupiter  lov(^d  her. 

She  was  black  and  ignorant,  and  had  been  a  poor,  toiling, 
driven  slave,  but  Jupiter  loved  her. 

For  her  he  had  entered  the  jaws  of  secessia. 

For  her  he  had  risked  capture  and  faced  the  torturing  that 
would  follow  it. 

And  since  they  had  become  free  Mansa  had  not  kept  pace 
with  Jupiter's  intellectual  growth. 

She  had  never  shaken  off  the  old  plantation  life  as  Jupiter 
had. 

It  was  a  scale  on  him  and  he  had  flung  it  away. 

It  was  a  part  of  her  nature  ;  it  was  i-mbedded  in  her  life 
and  it  clung  to  her. 

But  Jupiter,  if  he  had  grown,  he  ha,d  not  outgrown  the  old 
love. 

He  never  looked  down  on  or  pitied  Mansa. 

He  never  felt  himself  unequally  yoked,  as  many  do  when 


! "  367 

one  of  a  married  pair  develops  and  the  other  stands 
still. 

Education  and  honors  had  widened  no  gulf  between  them. 

She  was  yet  Mansa.  The  same  Mansa  whose  glad  song 
made  his  soul  light  when  the  burden  of  slavery  sat  heavy  upon 
him. 

His  love  lifted  her  up,  and  bore  her  along  with  himself. 

She  was  a  part  of  his  life,  and  this  part  of  his  life  was 
alone  and  in  peril. 

This  thought  set  his  jaws  tightly  together. 

This  thought  nerved  his  limbs. 

There  is  a  wonderful  momentum  in  love. 

It  drove  him  forward. 

The  low-lying  limbs  brushed  against  his  face  ;  rank  weeds 
and  dank  grass  twined  about  his  limbs  ;  thorns  and  briars  tore 
his  clothing  and  tore  his  person  ;  yet  he  dashed  against 
the  limbs,  through  the  grass,  and  through  the  briars  and 
thorns,  ignorant  of  the  rending  and  pain. 

He  only  knew  that  Mansa  was  threatened,  and  that  speed 
brought  him  nearer  to  her. 

On  and  on  this  heart-sore  man  pressed. 

On  and  on,  through  briar  and  thorn  and  morass. 

Jack  was  left  far  behind. 

At  last  Jupiter  stood  in  the  skirt  of  the  forest  looking 
down  upon  his  cottage. 

There  was  no  sense  of  fatigue  upon  him. 

He  was  possessed  of  but  one  emotion — an  intense  longing 
to  know  how  it  was  with  Mansa. 

A  thin  veil  of  mist  lay  like  a  fleecy  mantle  upon  the 
valley  of  Peeky  Run,  obscuring  his  garden  and  the  road  and 
all  of  his  house  except  the  roof  and  the  chimney,  which 
stood  out  in. relief  against  the  sky. 

A  moment  Jupiter  paused  and  listened. 

No  sound  assailed  his  ears. 

Then  he  bent  down  to  the  earth  and  listened  again. 

And  there  was  no  response  but  silence. 

Had  the  "1,900"  come  ? 

Oh,  how  he  hoped  they  had  not. 


368  BRISTLING    WITH    TllUKNS. 

Or  were  they  gone  ? 

Or  were  they  in  hiding  awaiting  his  coining  ? 

These  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  his  l)rain. 

Then  he  hurried  with  more  stealth  than  had  previously 
marked  his  movements  through  the  low  brushes  to  the  corn- 
field in  the  rear  of  his  home. 

Up  to  the  skirt  of  the  timber  Jupiter  liad  dashed  impetu- 
ously over  obstacles.     Now  he  moved  about  them. 

His  course  had  been  resonant 

It  was  the  vociferousness  of  hurry. 

Now  it  was  soundless. 

It  was  the  muteness  of  caution. 

He  reached  the  edge  of  the  corn  and  listened  again. 

He  detected  no  sound. 

Then  he  entered  the  cornfield. 

He  pushed  aside  the  broad  leaves  with  the  hush  of  dew 
upon  them  and  stealthily  moved  on  to  the  garden  about  his 
home. 

Here  he  dropped  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  crawled 
through  the  shrubbery  and  along  on  its  iniier  side  under 
its  shadow  until  he  reached  the  front  of  the  house. 

From  this  point  he  had  full  view  of  tlie  house  and  the  road. 

He  saw  that  the  garden  and  road  were  surrendered  to 
silence  and  solitude. 

His  heart  bounded  within  him  for  joy. 

He  whispered,  "  Thank  God  !     Than\  God  !  " 

Then  he  stood  up  and  hurried  to  the  door.  It  was  wide 
open. 

But  Mansa  was  safe. 

Of  course  she  was  safe. 

He  never  doubted  that. 

Ai\d  he  was  so  thankful,  so  anxious  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms 
and  tell  her  so,  that  he  never  thought  to  wonder  at  the  open 
door. 

He  thought  of  nothing  but  her — of  Mansa. 

He  was  too  glad  to  think,  and  with  this  gladness  in  his 
heart  and  hurrying  his  footsteps,  as  anxiety  hurried  them 
before,  he  entered  his  home. 


369 

So  opposite  feelings  produce  like  results. 

Within  the  house  was  dark. 

Jupiter  called, 

"  Mansa  ?  " 

A  voice  answered  him. 

"  Oh,  Jupe  !  Jupe  !  I'ze  so  glad." 

"Thank  God  !  "  Jupiter's  whole  soul  was  in  the  words. 

"I  did  think  you'ze  nebbah  gwine  ter  come." 

"Dear  Mansa  ?" 

"  You'ze  so  lang,  so  lang  !  " 

Jupiter  paused  in  the  middle  of  tlie  floor  puzzled.  He 
noticed  that  the  voice  came  from  before  the  fire-place  instead 
of  from  the  bed. 

"  Are  you  not  in  bed,  Mansa  ?  " 

"  No,  Jupe  ;  no,  I'ze  heah  !     I'ze  heah,  Jupe." 

From  the  garden,  when  Mansa  recovered  consciousness 
after  the  departure  of  Pelter's  gang,  Mansa  dragged  herself 
to  the  house. 

She  partially  clothed  herself  and  sank  upon  a  stool  before 
the  broad  open  fire-place. 

Her  mind  was  on  Jupiter.  "  Would  he  escape  ?  "  Again 
and  ao-ain  she  murmured  "  Po'  Jupe  !  " 

But  she  thouo^ht  nothino;  bevond  this. 

Thought  rarely  grows  out  of  great  suffering. 

Thinking  is  consumed  in  the  furnace  of  pain. 

There  is  sensation.     No  more. 

She  had  that. 

It  jDOured  itself  out  in  low  moans. 

Thus  she  had  sat  during  the  waning  hours  —  sat  with 
crouched  form  on  the  stool,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
and  her  tearless,  straining  eyes  fixed  upon  the  blackness  of  the 
yawning  chimney. 

When  she  heard  Jupiter's  voice,  Mansa's  first  impulse  was 
to  spring  into  his  arms. 

Then  the  scene  in  the  garden  rose  up  before  her — and  she 
remembered  her  shame  —  she   half  rose  and  sank  back  upon 
her  stool,  bending  lower  and    lower,  until    her    face    almost 
touched  the  floor. 
24 


ollj  BRlSTLlNc;     WITH     TIKJICNS. 

In  this  position  she  spoke  to  Jupiter. 

When  Jupiter  realized  his  wife  was  not  in  bed,  he  spoke 
to  her  in  a  voice  of  affectionate  surprise. 

"  Waitings  for  me,  Mansa  ?" 

"  Oh,  Jupe  !  Jupe  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  gone  to  bed,  Mansa  !  " 

"  Oh,  Jupe  !  an'  dey  didn't  ketch  yo'  ?  " 

"  No,  Mansa.     I  am  quite  safe." 

"  I'ze  so  glad  !     So  glad  !     Po'  Jupe  !  " 

"  Poor  chile,  you  oughtn't  to  worry  for  Jupe." 

Jupiter  had  drawn  to  her  side  and  placed  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder.  Mansa  shivered  under  the  touch  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Don't  worry,  Mansa." 

''Po'  Jupe!  "  Po' Jupe  !" 

Jupe  knelt  down  beside  her  with  his  arm  about  her  neck, 
and  drew  her  to  him. 

Mansa's  sobbing  redoubled. 

He  tried  to  soothe  her,  and  she  only  answered  back,  '*  Po' 
Jupe  !     Po'  Jupe  !  " 

Minutes  they  sat  there. 

Then  a  thought  of  the  open  door  flashed  through  Jupiter's 
mind.  Can  it  be  possible  the  "  1900  ''  had  visited  his  home  in 
his  absence  ?  Was  this  the  cause  of  Mansa's  unusual  agita- 
tion ?  Could  it  be  possible  they  had  ill-treated  her,  ill-used 
Mansa  ? 

Then  he  asked  her. 

He  halted  between  words,  as  if  fearing  to  know. 

"  Mansa,  has-any-one-been-here  ?  " 

"  Dey  has,  Jupe.     Dey  has  !     Dey  has  !  " 

"  Masked-men,  Mansa  ?  " 

"Oh,  Jupe!     Jupe!     Jupe!" 

"  And  they  were  here,  Mansa  ?" 

"  Oh,  Jupe  !  " 

"  Did  they  scare  you,  dear  ?  " 

*' Oh,  Jupe!" 

"  And — and  did  they — did  they  hurt  you,  Mansa  ?  " 


"pojupe!"  371 

"  Lawd  !  Lawd  !  Lawd  !  How's  I  gwine  to  tell  yo', 
Jupe?" 

Then  she  told  of  the  occurrences  of  the  night ;  told  it  all. 

Mansa,  as  her  narrative  progressed,  broken  with  sobs  and 
trembling,  could  feel  the  strong  form  by  her  side  shivering. 
She  could  hear  his  teeth  oTiiidino^  loo-ether.  And  the  bones 
of  her  broad  liand  were  crunching  together  in  his  strong  grasp. 
When  she  had  done,  her  head  was  drawn  close  to  his  breast, 
and  he  was  murmuring : 

"  Poor  Mansa  !     Poor,  suifering  Mansa  !  " 

Minutes  they  sat  that  way,  Jupiter  bolt  upright  on  a  stool 
beside  his  wife,  her  head  pressed  close  against  his  breast,  and 
looking  down  upon  the  dead  ashes  before  him  ;  looking  down 
upon  the  dead  ashes  of  his  wife's  honor. 

Then  Mansa  shrank  away  from  his  embrace.  Shrank  down 
upon  the  floor  by  his  side,  and  buried  her  face  on  his  knees. 
Suddenly  slie  seized  one  of  Jupiter's  hands  in  both  of  her  own, 
and  pressed  her  cold  lips  against  it,  pressed  them  upon  it 
again,  and  again  and  again,  all  the  time  sobbing, 

"  Po'  Jupe  !     Po'  Jupe  !     Po'  Jupe  !  " 

After  this,  Mansa  stood  up  and  reeled  to  the  door.  There 
she  paused  an  instant  and  looked  back  toward  where  Jupi- 
ter sat. 

Her  lips  opened. 

It  was  but  a  whisper. 

"  Po'  Jupe  !     Po'  Jupe  !  " 

Then  she  staggered  out  upon  the  walk;  out  into  the  gar- 
den; out  into  the  dark. 

Jupiter  sat.     Minutes  passed  away.     At  last  he  spoke: 

''  Mansa,  we  must  go  away  from  this." 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Yes,  my  poor,  wronged  girl,  we  will  go  North,  North, 
Mansa  ;  North,  dear,  where  we  can  be  free  !  Where  we  can 
be  men  and  women." 

Still  there  was  no  answer. 

''  Mansa  ! " 

There  was  no  response. 

Jupiter  reached  out  his  hand. 


372  BRISTLING    WITH    TUORNS. 

Tlidre  was  only  vacancy  about  him. 

He  stood  up  and  called — 

"  Mansa  !  " 

He  hurried  to  the  door  and  called  again — 

"  Mansa  !     Mansa  !  " 

He  hurried  into  the  garden. 

"  Mansa  !     Mansa  !  " 

He  searched  the  bushes  and  the  outhouses. 

"  Mansa  !  Mansa  !  Mansa  !  " 

From  the  top  of  a  dead  oak  in  the  cornfield  an  owl  cried 
"hoo!  hoo  ! "  and  the  dew  dropped  silently  down  from  the 
roses. 

But  Mansa  never  answered. 

Jupiter  searched  all  through  the  night.     He  scoured  the 

fields  and  the  woods.     Searched  everywhere  until  daybreak  ; 

until  sunrise  ;  everywhere  calling,  "  Mansa  !  Mansa  !  Mansa  !" 

Tlie   bright  sun   mounted   above  the  treetops,    gilding    the 

broad  leaves  and  the  lilies  that  lay  in  the  pools  of  Peeky  Run. 

Jupiter  was  crossing  the  run. 

To  his  right  lay  a  cluster  of  reeds. 

A  bit  of  muslin  floating  idly  on  the  surface  of  the  water 
near  them  attracted  his  attention. 

Jupiter  approached  it. 

He  stood  beside  it. 

He  drew  it  to  him. 

It  came  slowly  and  heavily. 

He  lifted  it  up. 

Then  his  anguish  burst  forth  anew. 

"  Mansa  !  Mansa  !  Mansa  !  " 

She  was  in  his  arms. 

But  Jupiter's  wail  foil  upon  ears  that  were  dumb. 

He  laid  the  body  down  on  the  grass  close  by  the  floating 
lilies.  He  devoured  the  cold  lips  with  kisses,  and  he  sat  down 
beside  it,  one  chill  hand  in  his  own,  sat  down  and  looked. 

Hours  passed  away. 

The  sun  had  climbed  to  its  azure  height  and  was  descend- 
Then  two  men  came  down  to  the  Run. 


"  po'  JUPE  !  "  373 

They  saw  Jupiter,  and  one  of  them  pointed  toward  him. 

Both  hurriedly  crossed  the  run  and  stood  beside  him.  In 
his  arms  was  the  body  of  his  dead  wife  and  his  face  lay  upon 
her  breast. 

One  of  the  men  spoke. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Then  the  man  put  his  hand  on  Jupiter's  shoulder  and 
exclaimed  : 

"Jupiter  Saltire,  I  arrest  you  for  the  murder  of  Joe 
Ratley." 

But  Jupiter  never  heard. 

He  had  passed  beyond  the  touch  of  earthly  troubles  and 
the  judgment  of  human  tribunals. 


374  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIT. 
A  child's  cry  louder  tiiax  the  storm. 

Joe  Ratley  was  dead. 

Col.  Trenhom  was  in  his  parlor  walking  to  and  fro.  He 
had  returned  a  few  moments  before  from  a  walk  through  the 
town  ;  on  his  way  home  he  had  met  Jim  Ratley,  a  brother  of 
.foe's.  Jim  was  with  Joe  in  Trenhom's  regiment.  When 
they  met  Jim  said  to  him : 

"  Kunnel,  they  be  some  durned  fools  as  says  you  know 
something  of  Joe's  killing." 

"  I  !  "  responded  the  colonel  hotly.     *•  I  !  " 

*'  Yas,  kunnel,  but  it's  all  a  dratted  fetch,  we  all  knows 
that.  You  was  allers  good  to  me  in  the  regiment,  kunnel,  an' 
I  ain't  gwine  ter  forgit  it. 

"We  boys  is  all  yer  friends,  every  one  on  us." 

This  was  added  to  the  rest  as  Trenhom  strode  through  his 
rooms. 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Even  if  Jupiter  had  anything 
to  do  with  the  killitig  of  Ratley,  could  it  be  possil)le  there  was 
any  plot  to  connect  him  with  Jupiter. 

Was  it  this  way  they  intended  to  interrupt  his  meet- 
ings ? 

Only  the  day  before  he  had  caused  posters  to  be  ])ut  up 
announcing  a  series  of  meetings  through  the  country,  at  which 
he  promised  to  address  the  people.  And  during  the  night 
a  letter  had  been  pushed  under  his  door. 

As  he  walked  the  floor  the  letter  lay  spread  out  on  the 
center  table  staring  him  in  the  face. 

It  was  a  villainous  letter  : 

"  Kunnel  Trenhom,  you  take  notis.    This  Co.  must  have  pacce.  We 


A  child's  cry  louder  tha?t  the  storm.  375 

have  got  to  have  it,  if  you  die  for  it.    So  you  just  take  warning  and  pull 
down  your  meeting  notises.     If  you  don't  you'll  go  dead  sure." 


^:^ 

<^\j 


1900 

While  looking  at  the  notice  and  thinking  of  Jim  Ratley 
and  his  words,  Trenhom  heard  hoofs  on  the  graveled  carriage 
road,  then  laughter,  and  he  knew  that  his  children,  Nellie  and 
Johnnie,  were  returning  from  a  morning  ride. 

As  he  passed  the  window  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Nellie 
tripping  up  the  front  steps,  shaking  her  long,  golden  curls  in 
the  soft  morning  air. 

He  could  hear  his  wife  and  children  conversino-  and  laus^h- 
Lng  on  the  broad  porch. 

He  heard  other  voices. 

He  paused. 

Who  could  that  be  ? 

He  stepped  out  on  to  the  porch. 

Then  he  saw  the  sheriff  of  the  county  and  two  other  gen- 
tlemen. 

"Ah  !  good  morning,  gentlemen,  good  morning;  will  you 
come  up  ?  " 

They  advanced  up  the  steps  and  stood  on  the  porch. 

*'  To  what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  this  early  visit,  gen- 
tlemen ?  " 

The  sheriff  grew  red  in  the  face,  fumbled  in  his  pockets. 

"  Hum  !  " 

Then  he  produced  a  paper  and  muttered  :  "  I've  been  sent 
to  arrest  you  !  " 

"  To  arrest  me  !  me  !  " 

"  Yes,  kunnel,  to  arrest  you.     I'm  sorr}^,  T  swar  I  am  ! " 

"  And  for  what  do  you  presume  to  arrest  me,  sir  ?  " 


i37G  BKISTLING    AVITII    TUORXS. 

"On  the  accusation  of  knowing  somethinir  of  Joe  Ratley's 
death." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  stepped  instantly  between  the  shenflf  and 
her  Imsband. 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  you  do  not  believe  this  ?" 

Mr.  Senter,  the  sheriff,  was  an  old  man,  with  gray  hair  and 
flabby,  wrinkled  face.  He  looked  down  at  the  papers  in  his 
liands,  turned  them  over,  pulled  them  first  one  end,  then  the 
other— "I  — I  — hum  !  " 

''  You  know  you  do  not,  sir.     You  know  it,  sir." 

"Well,  you  see  —  " 

"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Senter.  Talk  like  a  man.  You  know,  sir, 
that  this  is  part  of  a  plot  to  murder  m}"  husband  ;  and  you,  an 
old  man,  you,  who  must  soon  face  your  Mak'er,  are  lending 
yourself  to  it.  You  know  it.  You  know  if  my  husband  goes 
with  you  he  will  be  killed." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not  !  " 

Then  Trenhom  spoke. 

He  had  one  arm  thrown  about  his  wife's  waist,  his  daugh- 
ter Nellie  was  clins^inor  to  his  other  arm. 

"I  demand  instant  preliminary  trial,  and  to  remain  in  my 
house  until  the  result  is  known." 

"  Certainly  !  Certainly  !  "  responded  the  sheriff.  "  That 
is  fair  enough,  with  guards." 

"  Place  what  guards  you  please  here.  Remember,  sir,  they 
have  not  dared  go  far  enough  to  charge  me  with  murder,  or 
with  inciting  or  aiding  it  —  only  of  knowing  something 
about  it." 

"Yes,  that  is  all." 

"  Even  that  is  not  true.  No  man  who  knows  me  will  credit 
it,  not  for  an  instant,  sir.  But,  sir,  I  shall  not  go  tamely  to  a 
slaughter-pen." 

While  they  were  speaking,  Pelter,  Jim  Gouge  and  several 
other  members  of  the  Pelter  company  of  "1000"  lounged  into 
sight  about  the  corner  of  the  house  nearest  the  road. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant,  Savage,  Boozv,  and  a  dozen 
others  came  through  tiie  grounds  from  the  other  side  of  the 
house. 


A  child's  cry  louder  than  the  storm.  377 

Trenhom  looked  for  his  son. 

He  was  gone. 

A  moment  after  he  heard  the  boy  whispering  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  boy  had  thrust  a  revolver  into  his  father's  pockets,  and 
disappeared  again. 

The  crowd  about  the  house  swelled. 

The  most  of  them  rough,  lank-jawed,  shrunken-eyed, 
skulking  creatures,  the  lean  and  hungry  wolves  of  the  country. 

As  they  gathered,  others  came,  a  number  of  Republican 
friends  of  Col.  Trenhom,  and  with  them  Col.  Valore. 

Johnnie,  seeing  the  gathering  crowd,  had  slipped  out  tlie 
back  way  and  roused  the  known  friends  of  his  father. 

Col.  Valore  heard  rumors  of  the  disturbance,  and  came 
voluntarily. 

As  Valore  came  upon  the  porch,  he  asked  for  an  expla- 
nation. 

It  was  given. 

"  Psfiaw  !  "  he  promptly  exclaimed  ;  "  this  is  an  outrage — 
a  shameful  outrage.  I  don't  like  the  colonel's  politics,  but  he 
had  no  more  to  do  with  the  killing  of  that  Ratley  scoundrel 
than  I  had  myself." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  turned  to  the  colonel,  her  eyes  suffused  with 
tears.     "  Dear  old  friend,  I  thank  you." 

The  words  and  the  tone  were  a  bomb-shell  under  the  colo- 
nel.    He  blushed  like  a  school-girl. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  madam  !  I  ! : —  I  —  !  The  truth  is,  I  am  not 
—  not  —  blameless.  But  if  I  had  been  in  the  post-office,  the 
other  day,  when  that  Ratley  rascal  insulted  Mrs.  Huntley,  I 
would  have  shot  him  myself  and  saved  them  all  this  trouble. 
I  tell  you,  madam,  that  is  carrying  politics  too  far.  Dirty  dog! 
Dirty  dog  !  There  ought  to  be  no  questions  asked  about  who 
killed  him.     We  ought  to  tiiank  God  for  his  taking  off." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  took  Valore's  wrinkled  hands  in  her  own 
and  kissed  them. 

Noble  old  friend. 

At  this  instant  there  was  a  clattering  in  the  road. 

The  party  on  the  porch  looked. 


378  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

Thirty  or  forty  men  armed  witli  double-barreled  shot  guns 
were  enterinir  the  jxatc. 

Trenhom  was  among  the  first  to  notice  the  armed  crowd. 

He  turned  to  the  sheriff. 

"  For  what  have  you  brought  this  set  of  cowardly  ku-klux 
scoundrels  here  with  their  guns  ?" 

The  sheriff  shuffled  his  feet  on  the  porch  and  thrust  his 
hands  uneasily  in  his  pockets. 

"  Have  you  brought  them  here  to  kill  me "  continued 
Trenhom.  "  I  verily  believe  you  have.  I  believe  you  will 
kill  me  before  night.  But,  mark  what  I  tell  you  !  I  will  go 
down  with  my  colors  flying,  and  some  of  3^ou  will  bite  the 
dust  with  me." 

Valore  laid  his  hand  on  Trenhom's  shoulder.  "  That's  it, 
colonel,"  he  said,  ''and  I  will  help  you  to  dispose  of  some  of 
the  dirty  dogs." 

Pelter  and  Savage  held  a  whispered  consultation  with  the 
sheriff. 

Then  tlie  officer  turned  to  Trenhom. 

"  The  citizens  are  afraid  of  a  rescue." 

*'  That  is  preposterous,  and  you  know  it." 

*'  I  cannot  help  it.     They  insist  on  your  going  to  jail." 

Mrs.  Trenhom  interposed  herself  between  the  sheriff  and 
her  husband. 

"Do  not  go,"  she  said,  in  a  firm,  clear  voice.  "  Do  not  go, 
Walter  !  if  you  have  to  be  murdered,  my  husband,  let  it  be 
in  your  own  home."  Her  voice  grew  tremulous  with  emotion 
as  she  proceeded.  "  You  will  at  least  have  your  wife  and 
children  to  help  you." 

"  And  me,  madam,  and  me,"  spoke  Colotiel  Valore.  "  I 
agree  with  you  entirely.  I  say  stay  here  and  I  will  stand  by 
him  to  the  last.     To  the  last,  madam." 

The  crowd  heard  Valore  and  muttered. 

They  pressed  up  the  steps,  filled  the  porch,  filled  the  hall, 
filled  the  rooms,  and  down  in  the  gardens  their  numbers  were 
not  diminished. 

The  wolves  smelt  prey  and  they  gathered. 

With  the  house  and   porch   and  garden   full   of    infuriate 


A    child's    CKY    louder   than    the    STOIIM.  379 

men,  the  jail  was  more  secure  than  home,  if  it  could  only  be 
reached  in  safety. 

This  was  the  opinion  of  Trenhom's  friends,  Hilber  and 
Maclarum. 

Valore  acceded.  "Yes,  and  we'll  take  him  there  in 
safety." 

The  procession  was  formed. 

The  slieriff  in  advance,  Johnnie  Trenhom,  aged  fifteen, 
following;  close  after  the  boy  his  father,  with  his  wife  and 
daughter  on  either  side,  not  clinging  to  him,  but  leaving  his 
arms  free. 

Close  behind,  Valore  erect  and  stately,  with  a  cocked 
pistol  clasped  in  his  right  hand  ;  stern  as  honor,  turning  his 
face  and  flashing  eyes  backward  on  the  mob. 

Hilber  and  Maclarum  flanked  Valore  on  either  side. 

Down  the  steps. 

Along  the  walk. 

Under  the  shadow  of  scowling  faces  and  bloodshot  eyes. 

Under  the  points  of  pistols,  rifles  and  shotguns. 

Across  the  street. 

Across  the  green. 

The  murderous  wave  opened  for  their  passage  and  followed 
on. 

The  door  opened,  swallowed  them  and  was  closed  again. 

The  party  breathed  freer. 

Mrs.  Trenhom  cried  out  : 

"  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

Then  she  turned  to  Valore  : 

"  Dear,  dear,  old  friend,  how  shall  I  ever  thank  you  ?" 

She  knew  that  Valore's  social  position  was  worth  a  regi- 
ment .of  men  in  their  passage  through  the  "  low  down " 
mob. 

Valore  bowed. 

"  I  have  but  done  my  duty,  madam,  as  a  citizen  and  a 
gentleman.  No  more  than  your  husband  or  your  noble  father 
would  have  done  for  me." 

Valore  bowed  again.  He  was  a  grand  stately  old  man  at 
that  moment.     Then  he  turned  and  walked  out. 


380  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

The  mob  rolled  back  on  either  side,  and  Valore  passed  on 
up  the  street  through  the* town  to  his  home  beyond. 

Trenhom,  Johnnie  and  Nellie,  following  a  deputy  sheriff, 
passed  up  a  stairs,  tlirough  a  long  corridor  and  paused  before 
a  door. 

It  was  an  iron  lattice. 

The  lattice  opened. 

Trenhom  and  iiis  children  entered. 

Then  the  door  closed. 

The  crowd  waited  witliout,  scowling  at  the  walls,  waited 
singing,  cursing  and  threatening,  until  Valore  disappeared. 
Then  they  rushed  at  the  jail  door. 

The  door  opened  at  a  word,  and  before  Mrs.  Trenhom  had 
realized  there  was  danger  tlie  treachery  was  complete. 

The  hall  was  filled  with  the  rushing,  surging  mass  of  ai'med, 
drunken  and  blood-thirsty  wolves. 

They  filled  the  hall,  the  stairs  and  the  corridor  beyond.  A 
portion  of  the  crowd  saw  Hilber. 

"Ah  !  here's  one  of  them  !" 

"  Kill  the  black  Republican  !  " 

"  Kill  him  !  " 

"  Cut  his  throat !  " 

In  an  instant  Hilber  was  trampled  under  foot,  seized  by 
the  hair  and  dragged  down  the  stairs  into  the  road. 

Tliere  frantic  exertion  gave  him  a  moment's  freedom. 

Then  a  bullet  crushed  through  his  arm. 

He  leaped  into  the  air  and  ran. 

A  hail  of  bullets  followed  him. 

He  stumbled. 

A  bullet  crushed  through  to  his  brain. 

He  fell  to  the  earth. 

The  mob  in  its  madness  trampled  him  into  the  dust. 

Then  with  renewed  fury,  they  turned  back  to  the  jail. 

As  they  were  entering*  the  door,  one  noticed  Maclarum. 

Maclarum  was  an  aged  man  with  silvery  hair  floating  down 
his  shoulders. 

"  Here  is  another  Radical  dog." 

"Shoot  him." 


381 

"  Smash  him." 

"  Pass  him  out !  " 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  was  under  their  feet. 

They  kicked  him  ! 

They  leaped  on  him. 

They  crushed  him. 

They  dragged  him  by  the  hair  into  the  street. 

A  dozen  bullets  penetrated  his  body  as  they  drew  him  out. 

When  they  hurled  him  upon  the  sidewalk  he  was  dead. 

And  lying  there  dead  as  he  was  upon  the  walk  a  burly 
ruffian  bent  over  the  white  head,  dyed  red  in  its  own  blood, 
placed  a  pistol  close  up  against  the  bleached  and  wrinked 
forehead  and — fired. 

Back  again  to  the  jail  the  mob  rushed. 

The  two  friends  were  dead. 

The  wolves  had  a  taste  of  blood. 

Howling  they  rushed  on  to  the  catastrophe. 

A  portion  of  the  mob  already  filled  the  corridor,  Jim 
Ratley  at  their  head. 

Trenhom,  Johnnie  and  Nellie  were  in  the  cell. 

The  wolves  were  gnashing  their  teeth  and  raging  outside 
in  the  corridor. 

Mrs,  Trenhom  was  far  back  in  the  passage  pressing  her 
way  through  ;  pushing  between  bodies  ;  crawling  under  legs, 
railed  on,  spit  upon,  cursed,  but  pushing  on  resistlessly  toward 
her  husband  and  her  children. 

At  last  she  was  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  iron  latticed 
cell  door. 

Nellie  was  standing  within  covering:  the  door  with  her 
body. 

It  was  a  tender,  heroic  shield  for  a  noble  father. 

She  was  crying  to  Jim  Ratley.     . 

"  Go  back  !  Go  back  !  Don't  kill  my  papa  !  Don't  kill 
my  papa  !  Think  of  what  he  has  done  for  you  !  Oh  !  Have 
you  no  hearts  ?     Have  you  no  souls  ?" 

It  was  a  piteous  wailing  ? 

It  rose  above  the  oaths. 

It  rano-  down  the  corridor  ! 


382  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

And  the  inad  crowd  roared  back  sneers  and  jeers  and 
curses. 

In  tlie  crush  Mrs.  Trenhom  was  pressed  against  the  door 
on  her  knees  and  unable  to  rise. 

A  gun  was  thrust  against  the  bars  close  down  on  top  of 
her  head 

She  seized  it. 

Tlie  uj^per  end  of  it  was  held  by  a  youth  not  more  tlian 
twenty. 

''  Oh  !  oh  !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't !  Don't  ;  you  are  too 
young  to  stain  your  soul  with  blood  !  " 

"  Yer  mio-ht  as  well  hush  waulino^.  I  ain't  no  officer.  I'm 
only  a  private  and  must  obey  orders." 

The  press  from  behind  brushed  the  boy  and  the  gun 
beyond  the  door. 

One  only  of  the  crowd  stood. 

Whoever  was  brushed  away,  one  was  left  before  the 
door. 

That  one  was  Jim  Ratley. 

The  crowd  surged  about  him. 

The  men  before  the  door  changing  with  every  upheaval, 
but  always  the  same  sallow,  fierce  face  and  blood-shot  eyes, 
and  Jim  Ratley  stood  before  the  lattice. 

His  gun  was  thrust  through  the  lattice. 

Mrs.  Trenhom  reached  up  and  seized  it. 

"Oh  !  oh  !  merciful  heaven,  have  you  not  had  blood  enough 
for  one  day  ?" 

«  Go  to  ." 

Then  a  pistol  was  placed  against  Mrs.  Trenhom's  head, 

Down  on  her  knees  as  she  was,  she  looked  up  firmly  into 
the  eyes  of  the  man  with  tlie  pistol,  "  Fire,  if  you  have  the 
heart  to  do  it.     If  that  will  satisfy  your  thirst  for  blood." 

A  hand  reached  down  and  seized  the  barrel  of  the  pistol. 

"  That's  a  woman  !  " 

"  Yaas." 

"  You  wouldn't  shoot  a  woman  !  " 

"  Yaas,    her  !     I'd  shoot   anything  that   gets  in  my 

way  ! " 


383 

Within,  Trenhom  stood  in  the  center  of  the  cell,  his  son 
Johnnie  clasping  his  arms  about  his  neck. 

Nellie  was  against  the  lattice. 

Jim  Ratley's  gun  was  thrust  through  the  bars  over  her 
shoulder. 

There  was  a  flash,  a  detonation.     . 

The  cell  and  the  corridor  were  full  of  smoke. 

When  the  smoke  cleared  away  Nellie  had  recoiled  from 
the  door  and  Johnnie  stood  before  it. 

His  arms  were  upraised. 

One  fair  little  hand  was  dropped  over  upon  his  arm  hang- 
ing by  a  shred  of  skin,  and  the  hot  young  blood  spurting  out 
of  the  stump. 

The  full  charge  of  Ratley's  gun  had  struck  the  tender 
wrist,  torn  away  the  flesh,  torn  away  the  bone,  and  the  boy, 
weeping  tears  of  blood  from  his  veins,  was  crying  to  them. 

"  Oil  !  oh  !  don't  hurt  my  pappy  !  Please  !  Please  don't 
hurt  my  pappy  ! 

And  for  an  answer  Jim  Ratley  thrust  his  gun  through  the 
jail  door  for  the  second  time  and  fired, 

Nellie  seeing  the  gun,  seeing  Ratley  holding  it,  seeing  the 
devilish  light  in  his  eyes,  pushed  her  father  suddenly  toward 
the  side  of  the  cell. 

The  flash  was  full  in  her  beautiful  face.         _^. 

It  scorched  her  golden  hair. 

It  filled  her  lips  and  her  cheeks  with  powder. 

One  of  the  slugs  struck  the  bracelet  on  her  arm,  shattered 
the  bone,  and  imbedded  it  deep  in  her  flesh. 

A  portion  of  another  slug  penetrated  her  side. 

Without  were  the  raving  wolves  and  the  wife  and  mother 
down  on  her  knees. 

Her  hands  were  lifted  up  in  entreaty. 

Her  eyes  were  an  invocation. 

"  Olr  !  Men  !  By  the  mothers  that  bore  you  !  By  the 
wives  that  love  you  !  By  the  God  above  you,  spare  !  Oh, 
spare  !  my  husband  and  my  children  !  " 

And  they  answered  her  with  tramp  and  crush  and  roar  and 
smoke  and  flame. 


384  BRISTLING    WITH    T1I0K>'S. 

Gun  after  gun  was  thrust  through  the  bars. 

Ratley  again  fired. 

Tlie  ball  crashing  through  Trenhom's  side. 

Within,  near  the  bars,  a  faint  voice  was»  calling  : 

"Mamma!" 

A  child's  cry  is  louder  than  the  storm. 

Mrs.  Trenhom  heard  it. 

It  was  Nellie. 

Faint  from  loss  of  blood,  she  had  dropped  to  the  floor,  her 
face  against  the  lattice. 

A  hurricane  of  passion  and  death  was  raging  overhead. 

These  two  women,  the  girl  and  the  mother,  were  whisper- 
ing love  down  below. 

"  Mamma  !  " 

Nellie's  mouth  was  at  the  lattice. 

"  Yes,  dear  !  " 

".Oh!  dear  mamma!" 

"  Are  you  hurt,  dear  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  mamma  !  " 

"  Very  much,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma  !  and  I  won't  care,  mamma,  if  they  will  only 
let  papa  alone." 

There  was  a  flash  above,  and  the  strong  man  within  stag- 
gered. 

"  Can  you  stand,  dear  ?  " 

*'  No,  mamma  !  " 

It  was  only  a  breath. 

But  no.  storm  could  drown  it  to  a  mother's  ears. 

Nellie  was  prostrate  on  the  cell  floor. 

Her  lips  were*  against  a  little  opening  between  the  inter- 
secting bars. 

The  mother  lay  prostrate  without,  in  the  corridor. 

Her  hair  had  been  torn  down. 

Great  feet  trampled  upon  it,  trampled  upon  her  dress, 
trampled  upon  her  person,  and  in  the  tramp  and  crusli  these 
two  women  pressed  their  lips  together  through  the  cold  bars 
and  kissed. 

"Good  bye,  dear  mamma  !     Good  bye,  dear !  " 


A  CHILD'S   CKY  IS  LOUDER  THAN  THE   STORM, 
385 


25 


A  child's  cry  louder  than  the  storm.  387 

*'  Nellie  !  " 

The  lips  at  the  bars  were  silent. 

"  Nellie,  dear  !  " 

The  lips  within  were  growing  white  and  colder. 

"  Nellie  !     Nellie  !     Nellie,  my  darling  !  " 

Then  the  mother  knew  her  Nellie  was  whispering  her 
answer  from  a  world  where  there  were  no  mobs,  or  shot-guns, 
or  political  assassinations. 

At  that  instant  there  was  another  flash  and  report. 

Jim  Ratley  cried  out,  ''  By ,  he's  dead,  boys  !  " 

Mrs.  Trenhom  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  merciful  heaven  !  you  have  murdered  my  husband 
and  my  daughter  !  " 

The  crowd  surged  close  up  to  the  door,  pushing  Mrs.  Tren- 
hom far  up  the  corridor. 

Two  hundred  infuriate  faces  pressed  in  through  the  bars 
as  they  passed. 

"  Yaas,  the  dratted  scallawag  is  dead,  sure  enough." 

"  Reckon  he  won't  hev  no  Republican  meetings  in  this 
year  county." 

Then,  with  an  accompaniment  of  oaths,  laughter  and 
huzzas,  the  wolves  shuffled  out  of  the  corridor  and  out  of 
the  jail. 

In  a  few  moments  the  jailor  came  and  opened  the  barred 
door. 

The  frantic  mother   entered. 

Nellie  lay  across  the  opening.  A  smile  was  yet  upon  her 
powder-burnt  lips.     Johnnie  lay  crouched  in  a  corner. 

As  Mrs.  Trenhom  entered,  her  husband  raised  his  head. 

"  Oh,  Lou  !     How  glad  I  am  !     You  are  uninjured  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  !  " 

"  Thank  God  !  " 

"And  Nellie  ?" 

"  Dead,  Walter  !  " 

'  Noble  daughter.     And  Johnnie  ?  " 

"  Here,  papa  !  " 

It  was  a  little  voice  piping  from  the  corner  of  the  cell. 

"Hurt,  Johnnie  ?" 


388  BRISTLING    WITH    TUORNS. 

"  Yes,  papa  !  " 

"Does  it  pain?" 

"  Not  now,  papa  !  " 

"  Come  to  me,  Johnnie  !  " 

The  boy  made  an  effort. 

Then  he  sobbed  : 

"  I  can't,  papa  !  " 

In  an  instant  he  was  in  his  mother's  arms. 

Then  she  shuddered. 

"  Poor  boy  !     Dear  boy  !     Noble  boy  !  " 

She  laid  him  down  by  his  father. 

The  two  heads  drew  close  together. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  papa  ?  " 

"  To  the  death,  dear  boy  !  " 

*'0h  !  papa!" 

"  Brave  boy  !  " 

"  Kiss  me,  papa." 

With  painful  efforts  the  father  placed  his  chilling  lips 
against  the  boy's. 

And  the  boy  murmured  : 

"  Oh  !  mamma  !  mamma  !     Kiss " 

And  his  head  dropped  back  upon  the  cold  stones  of  the 
floor. 

Johnnie  had  joined  Nellie. 

Trenhom  was  fearfully  wounded,  torn  and  shattered  by  a 
dozen  bullets. 

He  knew  it  was  only  a  question  of  hours  until  he  would 
join  his  children. 

His  wife  put  away  trembling  and  tears  and  staunched  his 
wounds. 

She  did  all  that  could  be  done,  but  he  was  beyond  help. 

He  could  only  have  quiet  and  affection. 

Toward  evening,  Valore  stood  by  the  wounded  man's  bed. 
He  had  just  heard. 

"Colonel!  madam!"  he  exclaimed,  as  lie  entered,  "as 
God  is  my  judge,  I  never  dreamed  of  this.     Never!  never!  " 

"  Dear  friend,  we  know  it." 

"  Politics  has  estranged  us,  madam ;  but  this  is  horrible, 


389 

horrible  !  If  I  had  dreamed  of  it,  I  would  have  remained. 
My  God,  colonel,  I  never  can  forgive  myself  for  going  away." 

The  dying  man  reached  out  his  hand. 

"  Take  no  blame  to  yourself.  If  I  die,  friends,  with  you  I 
am  content. 

The  brave  old  man  grasped  his  hand. 

"  Mav  God  foro-ive  me  for  ever  beino:  vour  enemv.    I  never 

I/O  O     »/  ^ 

can  forgive  myself.  I  never  can.  I  feel  my  guilt.  Tlie  social 
barrier  we  have  raised  around  you;  the  public  sentiment  we 
have  created,  have  caused  tliis.  Without  that,  these  creatures 
never  would  have  dared  to  commit  this  crime.  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  their  purpose.  I  believed  you  were  safe.  But  in  the 
sentiment  that  prepared  the  way  for  it,  that  made  it  possible, 
I  am  guilty.     May  God  forgive  me,  guilty  !  " 

*'  Dear  old  friend,  do  not  take  blame  to  yourself,"  said 
Mrs.  Trenhom,  kindly. 

Valore  turned  to  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  And  you  forgive  me   madam  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  friend." 

"  And  you,  Trenhom  ?  " 

"  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart."  Then  he  turned  over 
on  his  back,  breathing  with  difficulty,  and  he  murmured, 
"  Lou  !  faithful  wife;  I  can  not  —  see  —  you. —  Good-bye  — 
Good-bye. —  I  die  for  my — country. — Good  bye,  faithful  love. 
—Kiss  me  !     Kiss  !     Faithful  love  !   faith  —  !  " 

Wrestling,  struggling  and  beseeching,  Mrs.  Trenhom 
passed  through  the  stormy  day  of  horror  and  blood.  Now  she 
bowed  over  the  white  face  and  mutilated  arm  of  her  boy; 
bowed  over  the  powder-burnt  lips  and  golden  hair  of  her 
daughter  ;  bowed  over  the  torn  and  shattered  form  of  her  hus- 
band ;  bowed  down  over  all  that  God  had  given  to  her  to  love, 
and  baptized  them  with  her  agony. 


390  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 


CHAPTER   XXXVTII. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    NORTH. 


The  gathering  in  the  Shootfast  parlors  was  the  beginnihg 
of  what  Major  Dale  Cartier  then  hoped  was  a  mere  temporary 
alienation  between  himself  and  Col.  Trenhom.  If  any  one 
had  then  suffcrested  to  him  that  he  would  ever  come  to  hate 
Col.  Trenhom  he  would  have  ridiculed  the  thought.  Were 
they  not  fast  friends  in  boyhood  ?  Was  there  not  between 
them  a  bond  of  reciprocal  kindnesses  running  all  through  the 
storms  of  war  ?  These  things  were  strong  in  Carter's  mind  on 
the  night  the  decree  of  social  proscription  went  forth  against 
all  "  scallawags,"  which  of  course  included  Trenhom,  for  he 
was  a  Southern  man,  holding  office  by  the  votes  of  Repub- 
licans. And  every  Southern  born  man  who  did  that,  no  mat- 
ter what  his  previous  social  position  ;  no  matter  how  high  his 
character  ;  how  pure  his  life  or  how  sterling  his  honor,  was  a 
"  scallawag."  Neither  worth,  nor  intelligence,  nor  length,  nor 
heroism  of  "  Confederate  "  record  could  save  them  from  that 
designation  of  reproach  once  they  voted  with  the  despised 
Republicans  or  held  office  at  their  hands. 

But  while  Cartier  lamented  what  he  esteemed  as  the  degen- 
eracy of  his  former  friend  and  old  commander,  his  heart  was 
yet  warm  toward  him.  He  still  thought  of  him  as  ''  Walt." 
The  same  "Walt."  that  he  was  in  boyhood  ;  tlie  same  "  Walt." 
whom  he  followed  in  the  desperate  charge  at  Chickamauga. 
And  if  he  agreed,  as  he  did  with  the  others,  to  wall  Trenhom 
and  his  family  in  with  barriers  of  social  ostracism  it  was  more 
out  of  love  than  out  of  hate.  Again  and  again  on  that  night 
Cartier  said  to  himself  "Walt,  won't  stand  it  long.  He  can't 
desert  his  old  friends.  A  few  days  or  weeks  of  this  and  the 
old  boy  will  be  with  us."     But    before    three    weeks    passed 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    NORTH.  391 

a  change  had  begun  in  Cartier's  mind.  He  was  keeping  pace 
with  his  associates.  Gradually  all  who  were  on  the  opposing 
side  of  the  barrier  were  regarded  as  enemies.  Trenhom  came 
in  for  his  share  of  public  reproach  and  sneers.  At  first  Cartier 
listened  impatiently  to  the  gibes  and  oaths  hurled  at  his  friend 
in  public  and  private.  Then  under  the  constant  dropping 
of  this  foul  flood  his  impatience  wore  away.  He  found  him- 
self smiling  and  then  laughing  at  ribald  jests  uttered  at 
Trenhom's  expense.  The  sentiment  of  friendship  was  weak- 
ened. There  was  no  internal  prompting  to  champion  his  old 
comrade  when  assailed.  From  sympathetic  utterance  he  had 
fallen  back  to  unsympathetic  neutrality.  Bat  beyond  this  he 
had  not  gone.  In  his  heart  there  was  no  personal  bitterness 
ao-ainst  Trenhom.  This  was  the  condition  of  his  feelins^  on 
the  day  of  the  cowardly  card  affair  at  the  post-office. 

On,  that  day  he  stood  on  the  skirt  of  the  crowd  looking 
through  the  door. 

He  was  a  witness  of  the  dastardly  outrage  upon  Mrs. 
Huntley. 

It  was  the  husband  of  this  woman  who  had  saved  his  life  at 
Chickamauga. 

It  was  he  and  he  alone  who  was  responsible  for  their  com- 
ing to  Slimpton.  And  while  he  stood  there  in  the  skirt  of  the 
gaping,  jeering  crowd,  laughing  with  them  at  the  unmanly 
insults  heaped  upon  their  helpless  Yankee  post-mistress  ; 
laughing  at  insults  which  woald  have  instantly  ceased  with 
a  word  or  look  from  himself  ;  he  saw  Trenhom  breasting 
through  the  crowd  ;  he  saw  Trenhom's  eyes  fixed  upon  him 
for  an  instant  ;  he  knew  then  that  Trenhom  had  detected  him 
looking  on  and  doing  nothing  to  prevent  the  outrage,  and 
in  that  instant  he  felt  that  he  hated  Trenhom. 

A  hot  flush  grew  up  in  his  face  and  he  turned  away  from 
the  crowd  and  walked  off  toward  his  home  without  awaiting 
the  result  of  Col.  Trenhom's  defense  of  Kate  Huntley. 

Yes,  he  positively  hated  Trenhom.  He  knew  that  now. 
He  was  a  miserable  "  scallawag."  He  blamed  himself  for  not 
interfering.  He  felt  keenly  that  he  ought  to  have  done  that  ; 
but  he  li'ever  paused  to  tell  himself  that  he   hated  Trenhom, 


392  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

not  because  he  was  a  "  scallawag,"  but  because  Trenhom 
had  detected  him  in  a  cowardly  act.  But  that  was  the 
fact. 

There  are  men  who  will  forgive  an  eye  that  directs  a  rifle 
ball  at  them  sooner  than  an  eye  that  detects  them  in  a  mean- 
ness. 

Cartier  was  one  of  these. 

After  this  no  mouth  in  Slimpton  surpassed  Cartier's  in 
railing  at  Trenhom.  Other  men  in  his  social  circle  took  it  up. 
Oil  the  night  of  the  post-office  burning  Cartier  was  looking  on 
without  an  effort  to  stay  the  ruin.  He  heard  Kate  Huntley 
appeal  for  help  ;  he  saw  her  despairing  face  as  she  rushed  into 
the  burning  building  to  save  her  husband  ;  and  he  saw  her 
when  she  fell  into  Trenhom's  arms  with  her  dying  burden. 
Then  the  curses  he  muttered  against  Trenhom  took  wings 
among  the  Pelter  gang  and  the  other  "  low-downs,"  and  they 
then  knew  it  was  as  safe  to  assault  Trenhom  as  it  was  to 
batter  down  the  doors  of  negro  cabins  and  outrage  their  help- 
less and  defenseless  inmates. 

*  Out  of  this  knowledge  was  born  the  crime  and  catastrophe 
at  the  Slimpton  jail.  Cartier  saw  the  mob  gathering  ;  saw  the 
heroic  procession  to  the  jail  ;  saw  the  passion  charged  cloud 
that  followed  it,  and  from  across  the  road  he  witnessed  the 
fury  that  burst  upon  the  devoted  inmates  of  the  jail  after  the 
departure  of  Valore. 

If  he  regretted  the  assassination  of  Trenhom,  his  brave 
young  son,  his  beautiful,  heroic  young  daughter,  and  his  aged 
friends,  he  made  no  sign. 

Except  his  Uncle  Valore,  none  of  his  friends  did. 

If  there  were  regrets  there  were  no  whisperings  of  it. 

Col.  Valore  raged. 

He  was  roused  indignation. 

He  denounced  it  as  a  cowardly  crime. 

He  denounced  the  actors  as  murderers. 

He  demanded  the  vengeance  of  the  law. 

All  this  Cartier  was  compelled  to  hear  in  his  uncle's  home 
and  in  his  own. 

And  he  heard  it  without  retort. 


A   VOICE    FROM    THE    NORTH.  393 

Other  of  Cartier's  and  Valore's  mutual  friends  were  as 
silent  under  Valore's  breathings  of  indignation. 

Several  weeks  passed  away,  then  one  evening  as  Dale 
Cartier  walked  through  the  town,  he  noticed  that  many  people 
held  newspapers  in  their  hands,  and  as  he  passed  they  put 
their  heads  together  and  whispered. 

Once  when  he  turned  his  head  he  detected,  or  thought  he 
detected  persons  running  from  the  interior  of  a  store  to  the 
door  and  windows,  looking  and  pointing  at  him. 

Could  there  be  anything  wrong  about  his  dress  ? 

He  looked  but  saw  nothing. 

At  the  post-office  he  received  a  newspaper. 

As  he  walked  toward  home  he  opened  it. 

Then  he  saw  it  was  the  "  Valley  Star,"  published  in  an  in- 
terior town  of  the  State  of  New  York. 

Why  send  it  to  him  ? 

He  was  about  dropping  it  in  the  street  when  he  noticed 
heavy  blue  lines  drawn  around  one  of  the  columns. 

This  attracted  his  attention.     He  paused  and  looked. 

He  saw  his  own  name. 

Then  he  saw  his  wife's  name. 

He  read  a  little. 

His  face  flushed. 

He  ojround  his  teeth  tog-ether. 

Then  he  crushed  the  paper  in  one  hand,  clasped  the  other 
over  his  forehead  and  reeled  like  a  man  who  had  been  struck 
a  tremendous  blow. 

He  had  been  struck. 

It  was  a  terrible  blow. 

Pulling  the  broad  brim  of  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  he 
rushed  toward  his  home. 

Erma  heard  his  footfall  on  the  stoop. 

His  daughters  heard  too,  and  they  ran  to  the  door. 

Dale  entered,  pale  and  trembling,  with  the  crushed  paper 
in  his  hand. 

The  children  ran  to  him. 

He  waved  them  back. 

His  wife  opened  her  arms. 


394  BRISTLING    WITH    THORXS. 

He  pushed  her  away. 

He  stood  orlarinof  at  them. 

The  two  daughters  shrank  away  weeping. 

They  never  had  been  treated  so  before,  never. 

"  Papa  must  be   tipsy,"  they  tliought.     "  Poor   papa,  how 
sorry  he  will  be." 

They  were  right,  he  was  tipsy — with  fury. 

Erraa  was  amazed,  but  she  was  the  first  to  find  words. 

♦'What  is  it,  dear  Dale?" 

Her  husband  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

He  thrust  the  paper  tow^ards  her. 

"  Is  that  true  ?     Is  that  true  ?  " 

She  glided  toward  him. 

"  Kiss  me,  dear." 

She  was  the  poetry  of  motion. 

"  Tell  me  !  Tell  me  !  Is  that  true  ?  My  God,  I  shall  go 
mad — mad  !" 

He  was  beatins^  his  forehead  with  both  hands. 

Erma  took  the  paper  and  glanced  at  it. 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks. 

"  Hear  me,  my  husband!  " 

'*  By I  will  hear  nothing — till  you  tell  me  it  is  a  lie  ! 

A  lie  !     An  infernal  lie  !  " 

"  One  word,  Dale  !  " 

"  Is  it  a  lie  ?     Is  it  a  lie  ?     Is  it  a  lie  ?  " 
^  His  eyes  were  blood-shot. 

A  white  foam  was  gathered  upon  his  lips. 

Erma  was  standing  near  a  lounge. 

She  sank  down  upon  it. 

Her  white  face  was  lifted  toward  her  husband. 

Her  eyes  were  appealing  to  him. 

He  strode  to  her. 

He  tore  the  paper  from  her  hand. 

He  held  it  out  in  his  left  hand  and  with  the  first  finger  of 
his  right  hand  he  pointed  to  the  blue  lines,  and  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  passion  he  shouted  :  "  Tell  me  before  I  strike  you 
down,  is  that  a  lie  ?     Is  that  a  lie  ?     Is  that  a  lie  ?  " 


'I 


^-^ 


--^^\*' 


IS   IT  A  LIE  ?    IS    IT  A  LIE  ? ' 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    NORTH.  397 

His  wife  folded  her  arms  on  the  end  of  the  lounge,  bowed 
her  head  down  upon  them  and  sobbed  : 

"  It  is  true— true  !  " 

For  an  instant  Dale  Cartier  stood  petrified. 

Then  he  raised  his  clenched  hand  to  strike. 

His  weeping  daughters  rushed  upon  him. 

They  seized  his  uplifted  arm. 

Cartier  dashed  them  upon  the  floor. 

Then  he  cried  out :  "  My  God  !  My  God  !  "  and  rushed 
out  of  the  door  and  away  from  the  house. 


398  BKISTLING    WITH    TUOKNS. 


CHAPTER    XXXTX. 

WHAT    WILL    TUE    PEOPLE    SAY  ? 

When  Major  Dale  Cartier  rushed  from  the  presence  of  his 
wife,  prostrate  on  the  lounge,  and  his  children,  prostrate  upon 
the  floor,  he  had  no  definite  purpose  except  to  fly.  To  be 
away  from  them. 

He  had  been  dealt  a  tremendous  and  unexpected  blow. 

He  felt  it. 

Its  bruise  was  upon  him. 

At  first  it  crushed  out  purpose. 

Purpose  needs  thought. 

He  had  none. 

His  limbs  moved. 

They  were  impelled  by  a  panic. 

They  carried  him  into  the  road  in  front  of  his  house. 

They  carried  him  on  up  the  road  beyond  the  few  isolated 
hovels  that  lay  like  rotting  toadstools  upon  the  decaying 
skirt  of  village. 

Beyond  that  was  the  frayed  edge  of  the  forest.    . 

He  strode  on  into  this. 

He  penetrated  the  shadow. 

There  the  influence  of  silence  and  solitude  fell  upon  him 
ill  id  he  paused. 

He  clenched  his  hands. 

With  his  clenched  hands  he  smote  his  forehead. 

Then  he  cried  out  in  agony  of  spirit  : 

"  My  God  !     My  God  !  " 

They  were  the  first  words  he  uttered  since  leaving  his 
home.  Yet  all  that  time  they  had  been  glowing  in  his  brain 
like  super-heated  gas  seeking  an  outlet. 

There  is  a  letluirj'-v  of  o-rief. 


WHAT   WILL   THE   PEOPLE    SAY  ?  399 

Bound  up  in  this  paralysis  mortals  feel  without  thinking. 

They  suffer  without  moaning. 

That  is  coma. 

When  it  passes  some  shiver  under  the  pain  and  bind  their 
tongues. 

Others  roar. 

Cartier  was  not  gifted  with  power  of  repression. 

When  he  felt  the  thorn  in  his  side  he  cried  out. 

Then  he  trembled. 

He  was  a  poor  wind-shaken  leaf. 

Then  he  sat  down  between  the  uplifted  roots  of  a  great 
oak  that  stood  removed  from  the  path  and  pulled  his  hat  down 
over  his  eyes. 

He  had  sat  down  to  pull  his  scattered  wits  together. 

He  tried  it. 

He  thought  aloud. 

Some  people  in  dilemma  can  only  think  when  they  speak. 

Cartier  was  one  of  them. 

His  first  thought  was  this  : 

"  How  can  I  ever  face  the  people  ?  " 

His  own  voice  startled  him. 

He  looked  about  him. 

Then  for  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  realize  where  he  was 
and  that  he  had  spoken. 

But  he  was  but  a  poor  creature  after  all. 

He  had  faced  glinting  sabres,  whistling  bullets  and  hurt- 
ling shells.  He  had  passed  through  hospitals  and  battle  fields; 
he  had  marched  and  endured  and  hungered  and  charged  ;  he 
had  watched  the  blood  flowing  from  his  gaping  wounds  ;  he 
had  felt  the  clutch  of  death  upon  him.  He  had  passed 
through  this  as  a  man  and  a  soldier  ;  he  had  heard  the  "  gen- 
eral orders  "  that  announced  his  courage.  Yet  this  man  was 
a  coward  ;  only  a  poor  coward  after  all. 

The  truly  brave  are  self-forgetful. 

This  man  was  not. 

He  was  wanting  in  chivalrous  self-abnegation. 

He  thought  in  this  hour,  but  he  thought  only  of  himself. 
"  What  will  people  say  ?  " 


400  BBISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

He  writhed  and  shrank  before  thoughts  that  would  never 
reach  his  ear. 

He  saw  around  him  society,  its  tongue  bristling  with 
thorns,  and  he  cowered  before  it. 

Dale  Cartier  with  all  his  dash  and  his  wounds,  was  a 
coward. 

Did  he  think  once  of  how  he  could  help  the  wife  he  had  left 
in  his  parlor  ? 

No! 

Or  of  the  innocent  children  whose  devoted  love  had  always 
been  his  ? 

No! 

He  thought  only  of  miserable  Dale  Cartier.  What  will 
people  think  of  him  ? 

Then  came  another  thought :  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  At  that 
moment  he  would  have  given  worlds  for  an  arm  to  rely  on  or 
a  hand  to  trust  in.  But  he  had  none.  He  was  there  alone  in 
the  solitude  of  the  forest  with  the  shades  of  night  gathering 
about  him,  trying  to  work  out  the  weightiest  problem  of  his 
life! 

Surely  the  horrible  fetor  of  the  lazaretto  will  fill  his  nos- 
trils and  he  will  think  of  the  tender  woman  who  walked 
calmly  into  its  putrid  stench  to  save  his  life  ! 

He  did. 

But  it  was  only  to  exclaim  :  "  Why  did  she  not  let  me 
die?" 

Surely  he  will  think  of  the  heroic  woman  searching  among 
the  mutilation  and  gaping  wounds  of  that  dreadful  hillside  at 
Chickamauga  until  she  found  him  and  gave  him  life. 

He  did." 

He  thought  of  it  all. 

The  past  whirled  through  his  brain. 

It  is  wonderful  what  a  breadth  of  life  can  be  encompassed 
in  a  moment's  thought. 

He  saw  Erma  in  the  hospital. 

He  saw  her  on  the  battle-field. 

But  he  thought  only  of  himself. 

He  was  still  a  coward. 


WHAT    WILL    THE    PEOPLE    SAY  ?  401 

"  Why,  my  God,  why  did  she  not  let  me  die  ?" 

Better  if  she  had. 

He  would  have  been  saved  from  man's  worst  enemy — him- 
self. 

He   ^vould    have     been    saved    from    a    madness    and   a 
crime. 

He  would  have  died  a  brave  man. 

That  is  better  than  to  live  a  revealed  coward. 

He  saw  in  all  that  Erma  had  done  for  him   only  that  she 
had  saved  him  to  suffer. 

Her  heroism  he  foro;ot. 

It  was  himself,  always  himself,  that  he   thought  of.     He 
was  an  egotist. 

Few  men  stand  still. 

But  there  is  a  downward  as  well  an  upward  growth. 

Men  shrivel  and  dwarf  as  well  as  broaden. 

Cartier  had  expanded  during  the  war. 

Most  men  who  engaged  in  it  did. 

But  on  the  night  of  the  Shootfast  parlor  meeting  his  growth 
came  to  an  end. 

After  that  he  began  to  contract. 

To  stunt  and  wizen  a  man's  soul  fling  him  into  the  narrow 
wine-press  of  bigotry. 

Dale  Cartier  flung  himself  in. 

The  press  was  upon  him. 

His  manhood  grew  pursed  up  and  pinched. 

He  was  never  great. 

Few  men  are. 

The  multitude  are    partly  molded  and   unmolded   by  the 
pi? Stic  hand  of  circumstance. 

He  was  only  one  of  them. 

Always  surrounded  by  generous  impulses  he  could  always 
have  been  good  and  generous. 

But  once  started  on  the  slippery  way  of  the  unscrupulous 
he  could  be  as  paltry  and  scrubby  as  the  meanest. 
These  were  his  possibilities. 

His  action  during  the  disgraceful   scene  at  the  post-office 
and  its  burning  and  his  subsequent  conduct  toward   his  old 
26 


402  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOKXS. 

friend  and  commander,  Trenhom,  showed  that  he  was  on  the 
downward  road. 

This  evening  he  was  treading  in  the  depths. 

He  waited  in  the  forest  until  he  saw  the  stars  breaking 
through  the  leaves  of  the  trees. 

And  lie  was  always  thinking,  "  What  will  they  say  ?  What 
shall  I  do?" 

Then  he  thought  of  his  aunt  Valore. 

"  Yes,  she  will  advise  me." 

With  this  in  his  mind  he  stood  up,  and  pulling  his  hat 
further  down  over  his  eyes,  he  started  forward  through  the 
trees  toward  the  edges  of  the  town,  and  avoiding  the  traveled 
paths,  he  turned  off  toward  the  house  of  his  uncle.  This  he 
reached  without  meeting  any  of  the  dreaded  public,  and  he 
stood  in  the  parlor  of  Col.  Valore. 

Wiien  Cartier  entered,  the  bruise  of  his  wound  was  yet 
strong  upon  him. 

It  was  not  in  swellings  and  contusions. 

Such  are  not  the  severest  wounds. 

Dale  Cartier's  marks  were  white  lips,  deep  lines,  dazed 
eyes,  and  tremulous  twitchinrrs. 

The  moment  Dale  entered  the  room  Mrs.  Valore  noticed  it. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  dear  ?  " 

Dale  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  dropped  into  a  seat 
and  moaned. 

"Are  you  ill.  Dale  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  I  were.     If  I  were  only  sick." 

*' What  is  it.  Dale?" 

"  Oh,  aunty,  how  can  I  tell  you  !  " 

*' Are  you  in  trouble,  dear  ?" 

"  My  God,  my  God  !  I  wish  I  were  only  dead  !  dead  ! 
dead  !  " 

His  hands  were  still  upon  his  face'  and  his  head  bowed 
down  almost  to  his  knees.  Mrs.  Valore  walked  over  to  him 
and  laid  her  right  hand  upon  his  head.  She  loved  Cartier. 
For  many  years  he  had  been  nephew  and  son  to  her.  She 
could  not  have  loved  him  better  if  he  had  been  her  own 
child. 


WHAT    WILL    THE    PEOPLE    SAY  ?  403 

"No  mere  bodily  injury  could  make  you  feel  this  way," 
she  said. 

Cartier  only  answered  by  his  continued  moaning. 

"  Is  it  an  insult,  dear  ?  " 

"  Insult !     Insult  !     Would  it  were  no  more  than  that  !  " 

*^  Is  it  money,  Dale  ?  " 

"  Oh,  auntie,  auntie,  how  can  I  tell  you  !  How  can  I  tell 
you  !  " 

Mrs.  Valore  was  deeply  -moved  by  the  poignancy  of  his 
grief.  She  sat  down  beside  him.  Then  she  laid  her  arm  over 
his  neck  and  drew  his  head  to   her. 

"  Tell  me.  Dale  !  "  she  cooed  in  his  ear. 

Without  raising  his  head  Dale  began  his  story.  He  told 
of  his  visit  to  the  post-office.  The  reception  of  the  paper. 
The  deep  blue  lines  drawn  about  one  of  its  columns.  The 
discovery  of  his  name  and  his  wife's  name  in  it.  And  then  he 
rehearsed  the  narrative  of  the  paper.  It  was  a  rambling 
narrative,  broken  and  disjointed,  often  incoherent,  and  all 
along  interlarded  with  moaning  and  exclamations  of  grief  and 
shame,  and  the  sentence  "  How  shall  I  ever  face  the  people?  " 
As  the  story  progressed,  Mrs.  Valore's  face  blanched,  an 
unwomanly  sternness  gathered  about  her  lips  and  crept  into 
her  steel  blue  eyes. 

When  Dale  finished  she  was  sitting  bolt  upright  beside 
him. 

She  was  an  implacable  woman  at  that  moment. 

"  And  she  ?  " 

They  were  but  two  words.  But  they  were  doom  for  Dale 
Cartier's  wife.  Mrs.  Valore  did  not  yet  know  that  the  story 
was  true.  She  had  heard  nothing  but  the  article  in  the 
"  Valley  Star."     And  yet  she  was  prepared  to  believe. 

Why  is  it  that  women  are  so  stern  against  their  sex  ? 

Not  all. 

But  so  many. 

What  becomes  of  their  tenderness  when  they  become 
judges  ? 

What  do  they  do  with  their  mercy? 

"  Judge  not." 


404  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

But  they  will  judge. 

Tiiey  will  be  sharp,  severe,  and  bitter. 

They  might  help. 

They  crush. 

This  woman,  without  knowing,  was  prepared  to  believe 
and  prepared  to  crush. 

A  man  would  have  had  more  mercy,  at  least  for  a  woman. 

But  she — well,  she  was  a  woman  judging  a  woman. 

Dale  evidently  had  not  heard  her.     Then  she  repeated  it. 

"  And  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  auntie,  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it.  She  admits 
all— all." 

"  Miserable  creature  !     Admits  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  all!  all!  Admits  that  it  is  true.  Oh,  how  shall 
I  face  the  people  ?  " 

"  Vile,  dreadful  creature  !     And  she  admits  it,  you  say  ?  " 

Dale  was  silent. 

"Did  you  tell  her  the  whole  story  ?" 

"1  showed  her  the  paper." 

"And  she  read  it?" 

"  She  glanced  at  it." 

"  And  then  admitted  it  ?" 

"And  then  admitted  it  was  true.  Oh,  auntie,  how  shall  I 
ever  face  my  friends  again  ?" 

"  It  is  not  your  fault." 

"  To  think,  auntie,  that  my  life  is  destroyed." 

"  My  poor  Dale  !  " 

"My  home,  happiness,  good  name,  everything,  everything 
tliat  I  valued,  shattered  and  lying  in  ruins  about  me." 

"  Dear  boy  !  I  do  pity  you." 

"  And  the  people  ?  " 

"It  is  not  your  fault,  Dale.     Not  your  fault,  dear  boy." 

"Good  heavens,  auntie,  to  think  of  it." 

"It  is  dreadful,  Dale  !     Dreadful  ! 

"And  to  think  of  every  low  ruffian  in  the  town  with  a 
paper  in  his  hand." 

"Can  that  be  true  ?     Papers  sent  to  so  many?" 

"  To  everyone.     The  whole  town  knows  it." 


WHAT    WILL   THE    PEOPLE    SAY  ?  405 

"That  is  shameful  !" 

"And  all  looking  at  me  !  pointing  at  me  !  pitying  me  in 
my  shame  and  disgrace." 

"  It  is  too  bad  ;   too  bad  !  " 

"I  could  bear  anything  but  that.  To  have  my  disgrace 
known.     To  be  the  butt  and  laughter  of  the  low-down  mob." 

"  Dear  Dale,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you." 

"  To  think  of  their  gibes.  To  be  the  object  of  their  merri- 
ment," 

"  But  they  must  sympathize  with  you." 

For  the  first  time  Dale  raised  his  head.  He  stood  up 
before  his  aunt.  He  raised  his  right  arm.  An  imprecation 
was  upon  his  lips.  But  it  died  out  in  the  presence  of  the 
woman  who  stood  looking  into  his  eyes.  His  arm  fell  down 
again  and  he  cried  out : 

"I  could  not  endure  it.     I  could  not  endure  it." 

"  Dear  boy." 

"  Auntie,  I  feel  that  if  any  man  should  express  sympathy 
to  me  I  will  kill  him." 

"Dale!" 

"I  could  not  help  it,  auntie.     To  be  laughed  at  or  sympa- 
thized with  in  a  matter  of  this  kind.     They  are  both  alike, 
could  not  endure  it.     I  tell  you  I  could  not  endure  it." 

Mrs.  Valore  laid  her  arm  about  him. 

"  Sit  down,  dear." 

Dale  was  a  child  under  her  words, 

He  sat  down. 

"  Let  me  see  the  paper.  Dale." 

Dale  looked  dreamily  into  his  hands. 

He  felt  his  pockets.  "  I — don't — know  !  I  must  have  left 
it  with  Er— with  her— with  that— Oh!  my  God!  " 

"  The  wretch  !     The  dreadful  wretch  !  " 

"  Oh,  aunt !  aunt  !  " 

"  She  is  a  wretch  !  A  vile  wretch  to  bring  such  ruin  upon 
your  life.     My  poor  boy.     It  is  shameful,  disgraceful." 

Dale  covered  his  face  again  and  moaned. 

"And  you  left  her.  Dale  ?  l^You  did  that,  did  you  not  ?" 

"  Leave  her  !     Leave  my — Er — that  woman  ?  " 


40G  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

"Yes,  did  you  not  ?  You  cannot  go  back  to  her  as  your 
wife  ?     You  cannot  do  that  ?  " 

"Oil — h!"  and  he  wiped  the  cold  moisture  of  pain  from 
his  brow. 

"  You  will  not  go  back  to  that  creature  ?  " 

*'  No  !  no,  aunt,  1  cannot  do  that — and — yet — we  have  been 
so  happy  !     Good  heavens,  what  will  the  people  say  !  " 

"  Did  you  not  tell  her  so,  that  you  had  left  her  forever  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  what  else  could  I  do  ! " 

Then  he  repeated  the  scene  in  his  own  parlor. 

"You  acted  properly,  sir,  like  the  gentleman  that  you  are, 
sir.  Tiie  infamous  creature,  to  deceive  you  so.  You,  my 
nephew,  my  almost  son." 

At  this  instant  Valore  hastily  entered  the  room. 

Seeing  Dale  he  turned  to  him  and  spoke. 

"  Dale,  what  story  is  this  I  hear  ?  " 

Mrs.  Valore  told  him,  down  to  the  parting  scene. 

The  old  man  listened  with  anger  gathering  in  his  eyes. 

When  his  wife  concluded  with  the  exclamation,  "  He  has 
parted  from  the  deceitful  wretch  like  the  gentleman  that  he 
is,"  Col.  Valore's  cane  dropped  from  his  hand  and  a  sternness 
settled  upon  his  face  such  as  his  wife  had  not  witnessed  for 
years. 

Without  a  word,  leaving  his  cane  lying  upon  the  floor, 
he  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the  house. 


DAUGHTEK    OF    A    SLAVE.  407 


CHAPTER  XL. 


DAUGHTER    OF    A    SLAVE. 


For  ten  years  Valore  had  not  walked  without  the  aid  of 
a  cane.  But  when  he  walked  out  of  his  own  parlor  he  forgot 
it.  He  forgot  his  seventy  years.  He  forgot  his  infirmity. 
He  forgot  everything  but  his  indignation  and  his  eagerness  to 
see  Erina. 

Unannounced  he  entered  her  home  and  stood  in  the  door 
looking  into  the  room  from  which  his  nephew  had  fled. 

He  saw  Erma. 

She  lay  as  Dale  left  her. 

Her  arms  were  resting  on  the  end  of  the  lounge. 

Her  face  was  plun'ged  in  them. 

Her  two  daughters — her  only  children,  bright,  beautiful 
girls,  knelt  on  the  carpet,  their  arms  wound  about  their 
mother. 

The  mother  moaned. 

The  daughters  baptized  her  moans  with  tears. 

On  the  floor  near  the  head  of  the  lounge  lay  the  thunder- 
bolt that  had  shattered  the  happiness  of  this  family. 

It  was  a  crumpled  newspaper. 

Valore  was  deeply  moved. 

He  walked  softly  across  the  floor  and  stood  by  the  lounge. 

Grief  is  louder  than  sound. 

Valore  was  unheard,  unseen,  until  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
Erma's  head. 

She  thought  it  was  Dale  come  back  again. 

A  tide  of  joy  rushed  to  her  heart. 

It  electrified  her. 

She  sprung  up. 


408  BRISTLING    -SVITH    THORNS. 

Then  she  saw  it  was  Col.  Valore,  and  she  fell  back  again 
upon  the  lounge. 

She  was  lost. 

So  she  thought. 

If  Dale  had  turned  away  from  her  what  would  not  this  stern 
old  man  do  ? 

"  Erma  !   Erma,  dear,  listen  to  me." 

How  soft  and  tender  the  words  were. 

But  the  bursting  of  clouds  would  not  have  reached  her 
ears  as  surely  as  they  did. 

There  was  so  much  hope  in  their  tenderness. 

"  And  Dale  has  sent  you  ?  He  will  forgive  and  come 
back  to  me  ?" 

Valore  drew  a  chair  by  the  side  of  the  lounge  and  sat 
down,  stroking  the  glossy  head  that  lay  on  the  lounge. 

**  Erma,  can  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Ye-s  !  "  she  moaned. 

*'  Yes,  uncle.  Say  that,  Erma."  His  hands  were  gently 
smoothing  her  disordered  hair. 

How  sweet  the  words  were  to  her  tben, 

He  did  not  fling  her  away. 

But — did  he — could  he  know. 

Pain  smote  her  again  and  crushed  the  hope  out  of  her. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !     Do — you.     Do  you know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Erma — my  dear  niece,  I  know !  " 

"  Oh-h-h  !  "  It  was  a  profound  sigh  of  relief.  He  knew 
and  he — he — Dale's  uncle — Dale's  mother's  brother  called  her 
his  "  dear  Erma,"  his  "  dear  niece." 

Erma  seized  one  of  his  hands,  drew  it  to  her,  and  laid  her 
cheek  upon  it. 

How  good  he  was. 

Wrinkles  ? 

No,  he  had  none. 

Tenderness  is  a  magician. 

He  was  the  most  beautiful  being  under  the  sun. 

He  was  an  angel. 

*'  Can  you  talk  to  me,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  !  " 


DAUGHTEK    OF    A    SLAYE.  409 

*'  Say  yes,  uncle !  Uncle  Gersh !  always  your  Uncle 
Gersh  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Uncle  Gersh." 

"  Thank  you,  dear." 

Her  cheek  was  welding  to  his  hand. 

"  You  are  so  good,  so  good,  dear,  dear  Uncle  Gersh,  always 
so  good!" 

*'  My  dear,  no  goodness  can  equal  your  merits." 

"  Generous,  noble  friend.     Dear,  dear  uncle  !  " 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  origin  of  this  exposure  ?" 

She  pointed  to  the  thunderbolt  on  the  floor. 

Valore  lifted  it  and  read  it  from  beo;iiininor  to  end. 

It  was  a  long  article. 

More  than  a  column  of  it. 

A  communication  to  the  "Valley  Star." 

It  was  all  about  politics  and  people  in  Slimpton. 

It  referred  to  outrages  committed  on  negroes  and  the 
people  who  approved  them.  No  man  in  Slimpton,  it  charged, 
is  more  malignant  than  Dale  Cartier,  formerly  a  Confederate 
major. 

"  Every  outrage  and  crime  committed  upon  the  blacks, 
every  invasion  of  their  rights  as  men  and  citizens  is  applauded 
by  him.  No  one  in  all  Slimpton  is  louder  in  his  exclamations 
of  approval.  He  is  the  commander  of  one  of  the.  military 
companies,  organized  avowedly  to  preserve  the  peace,  but 
really  to  break  up  Republican  meetings  and  grind  the  colored 
people  into  the  dust.  Yet  this  man's  wife  is  a  NEGRESS, 
and  her  mother  was  a  slave." 

The  correspondent  continued : 

"  I  have  it  from  unquestionable  authority.  My  informant 
was  a  servant  of  her  father  and  was  with  him  when  he  pur- 
chased Mrs.  Cartier's  mother.  He  went  with  them  to  France 
aud  lived  with  them  there.  He  was  there  when  Mrs.  Cartier 
was  born." 

There  was  much  padding  of  details.  But  this  was  the 
substance  of  the  letter. 

After  Valore  read  it  he  laid   his   hand  upon  Erma's   head 


410  BHiSTLiX(;   WITH  thorns. 

"  Is  this  true,  dear  child  ?" 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  Uncle  Gersh  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Uncle  Gersh." 

How  good  he  was.     He  said  this  to  her  to  call  him  uncle. 

He  asked  her,  a  child  of  the  despised  race,  to  do  this. 

She  was  amazed. 

The  surprise  almost  stupefied  her. 

"How  long  have  you  known  it,  dear  ?  " 

"  This  day.     This  day  only." 

"  How  did  you  discover  it,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Dale  desired  an  old  deed,  and  in  searching  for  it  I  dis- 
covered a  package  of  papers  addressed  to  myself." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  see  them,  Erma  ?" 

Erma  stood  up. 

She  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  aid  of  Colonel  Valore. 

He  caught  her. 

Then  he  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  to  the  library. 

There  she  placed  the  papers  in  his  hands. 

He  looked  them  over. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  them  over,  "  here  is  a  bill  of 
sale,  made  at  New  Orleans,  of  Erma,  property  of  Gervaise 
Petillant,  to  General  Chartrass,  for  $5,000. 

"  Here  is  a  deed  of  manumission  by  General  Chartrass, 
dated  the  day  of  the  sale  bill,  manumitting  Erma  Petillant, 
purchased  of  Gervaise  Petillant. 

"  Here  is  a  marriage  certificate,  signed  at  Paris,  France,  of 
the  marriage  of  Gerald  Oliver  Chartrass  and  Erma  Petillant, 
with  the  name  of  officiating  priest'  and  witnesses." 

When  Valore  saw  this  he  turned  to  Erma. 

"Ah,  dear  child,  your  noble  father,  my  lamented  friend, 
was  an  honorable  gentleman,  always,  dear,  always,  dear." 

The  next  pa])er  was  a  certificate  of  the  birth  of  Erma 
Petillant  Chartrass,  with  a  statement  in  General  Chartrass's 
writing  of  Ermal's  identity. 

Then  followed  a  certificate  of  the  death  and  burial  of  Erma 
Petillant  Chartrass. 

After  Valore  finished  he  turned  to  Erma. 


DAUGHTER    OF    A    SLAVE.  411 

• 

"  Yes,  dear,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  none  whatever." 
"And,"  whispered  Erma,  "you — you  do  not — not  cast  me 
away." 

She  was  trembling  like  wind-driven  vapor  when  she  asked 
this  question. 

"Erma!  niece!"  Valore  was  standing  up  before  her, 
looking  reproachfully  down  upon  her.  "  What  have  I  done  to 
deserve  this  ?  " 

"  Oh  !     Forgive  me  !     Forgive  me,  dear  Uncle  Gersh." 

"  Dear  child.  How  you  must  suffer  to  ask  tliat  question  of 
me.  Your  noble  father's  and  your  friend,  yours  always, 
dear." 

"  You  are  so  good,  so  good.  Uncle  Gersh." 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  wliite  forehead. 

"And  you  will  bring  Dale  to  me  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  will  bring  him  to  you.  He  must  come  to 
you." 

He  took  the  children  in  his  arms. 

He  passed  his  hands  over  their  innocent  young  heads. 

He  urged  Erma  to  "  be  of  good  cheer." 

Then  he  went  away. 

While  Valore  was  with  Erma,  Major  Dale  Cartier  was 
with  Shootfast. 

He  had  been  urged  by  his  aunt  to  consult  the  judge  as 
to  his  position,  and  he  went 

What  was  that  position.  He  had  loved  his  beautiful, 
devoted  wife. 

He  had  loved  the  children  who  filled  his  home  with  sun- 
shine. 

They  had  been  happy,  very  happy  together. 

But  she  was  a  negress,  and  her  mother  had  been  a  slave, 
and  he  had  lived  with  her  as  his  wife.  He — a  Cartier — had 
done  this — and  he  had  introduced  her  to  the  world  as  his  wife. 

What  humiliation  ! 

How  would  he  face  the  sneers  of  society  ?  How  would  he 
survive  the  behind-back  chuckling  of  the  low-downs  ? 

He  thought  of  these  things  again  as  he  walked  to  Shoot- 


412  BRISTLING   WITH   THORNS. 

t 

But — was  she  his  wife  ? 

This  was  tlie  question  Mrs.  Clarissa  Valore  suggested. 

If  she  was  not,  then  there  was  hope. 

He  could  live  and  breathe  again. 

Desire  to  know  was  stronger  than  the  pain. 

In  the  roar  and  certain  ruin  of  the  breakers  men  will  strain 
their  ears  to  the  leadsman  in  the  chains. 

If  the  leadsman's  cry  runs  down  "four"  "a  quarter  less 
four  !  "  "  and  a  half  three  !  "  "By  the  mark  three  !  "  so  much 
the  worse. 

But  there  is  relief  in  knowing. 

Shootfast  listened  to  Cartier. .   He  heard  him  through. 

Then  he  answered  : 

"If  Erma's  mother  was  a  slave  when  Erma  was  l)orn,  Erma 
was  a  slave,  was  so  at  the  time  of  the  marriage  ceremony,  and 
the  marriage  was  a  nullity  because  a  slave  cannot  enter  into  a 
contract. 

"If  Erma  was  born  free  but  had  the  proportion  of  African 
blood  in  her  veins  which  made  her  a  negro  by  the  statutes  of 
the  State,  the  marriage  would  be  void,  because  prohibited  by 
law. 

"  The  fact  that  the  law  was  afterward  altered  does  not 
change  the  matter.     Void  in  the  beginning,  void  ever  after. 

"Now,  what  are  the  facts  ?" 

Dale  did  not  know. 

When  he  returned  to  Valore's  the  Colonel  was  there. 

Seeing  Dale  enter  he  asked  him, 

"  Have  you  been  to  Erma  ?  " 

"I!  Heavens,  no!"  answered  Cartier,  looking  at  his 
uncle  in  amazement. 

"  She  is  perishing  for  one  word  from  you,  Dale." 

"  From  me  !     From  me  !  " 

"Yes,  Dale,  and  you  should  go  to  her  at  once.  Do  not 
delay  a  moment,  nephew.  Do  not  permit  that  dear  girl  to 
suffer." 

"  Go  to  her  as  my  wife  ?" 

"As  your  wife  !  As  your  wife!  I  do  not  understand 
you.  Dale." 


DAUGHTER   OF   A    SLAVE.  413 

«  Uncle  Gersham  !  " 

"  Go  to  her,  my  dear  boy  !  Go  to  her  !  To  see  her  suffer 
would  melt  a  heart  of  steel  !  " 

"  And  live  with  her  !  " 

It  was  Mrs.  Valore  who  asked  the  question. 

She  had  at  that  moment  entered  the  room  and  heard  her 
husband  appealing  to  Dale. 

"  Live  with  her  ?  What  a  question  to  ask,"  responded 
Valore. 

''  Impossible  !  Absurd  !  "  returned  his  wife.  "  After  this 
vile  cheat  of  a  marriage  is  out  of  the  way,  then  if  she  wishes 
to  live  with  Dale " 

"  Clarissa  !     Clarissa  !     Stop  !     Stop  !  for  heaven's  sake  !  " 

"  Stop,  indeed  !     Are  you  bewitched  ?  " 

"  Clarissa !  " 

"  Colonel  Valore  !  " 

"  You,  a  woman,  make  such  a  horrible  suggestion  !  " 

"  Horrible,  indeed  !  As  if  she  is  better  than  other  negresses 
who  occupy  the  same  j^osition." 

Valoi'e  turned  in  his  chair,  facing  his  wife. 

Great  drops  were  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Clarissa  !  "  he  said  ;  "  that  I  should  live  to  hear  this — 
from  you.  Nearly  half  a  century  we  have  been  married.  I 
have  believed  in  you.  And  now — Clarissa — my — -cup — of — 
sorrow — is  full,  full  I" 

"  Huh  !     Much  ado,  indeed,  about  a  little  negress." 

"Yet  she  is  the  one  woman  that  for  twenty  years  past  you 
have  most  admired,  loved,  fondled  and  kissed." 

"And  I  could  bite  my  lips  off  and  my  tongue  out  for  it. 
To  think  that  I  have  petted  and  loved  and  made  much  of 
a  nasty  little  negress." 

"  She  is  whiter  skinned  than  most  of  us." 

"  Huh  !     Indeed  ! "  tossing  her  head. 

"And  the  whitest  souled  woman  in  the  State — the  whitest 
souled  woman  in  the  country  !" 

"  I'm  disgusted  with  you.  Colonel  !  Disgusted  with  you, 
sir.     But  Dale  has  more  sense,  I  am  glad  to  say.     He  will  be 


414  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

guided  by  me  in  this  matter,  sir,  and  preserve  the  family 
honor,  sir  ;  preserve  its  honor  ! " 

Valore  turned  to  Cartier. 

"  Is  tliat  so.  Dale  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

*'  Dale,  but  for  her  you  would  have  perished  on  tlie  battle- 
field of  Chickamauga  before  help  readied  you." 

"  Yes,  but—" 

"  And  she  faced  the  horrible  stench  of  the  room  where  you 
lay  rotting  with  the  small-pox.  Faint  and  weak  she  marched 
into  tlie  loathsome  pest-house,  reeking  with  corruption, 
bristling  with  death,  and  dragged  you  out  of  the  grave." 

"  God  knows  she  was  brave  and  true,  but  oh  !  uncle,  her 
mother  was  a  sla — v — e  !     A  sla — v — e  !  " 

"  Dale,  listen  to  me.  If  it  was  me,  if  she  braved  perils  for 
me  as  she  has  braved  for  you — if  she  had  done  for  me  one 
hundredth  part  of  what  she  has  done  for  you,  I  would  not 
abandon  her  if  she  were  a  murderess." 

"  Nor  would  I  !  Nor  would  I !  "  exclaimed  Dale.  "  But 
this  is  different.     She  is  a  negress  !  " 

"And  you  will  not  go  to  her  ?" 

"  When  this  disgraceful  marriage  is  out  of  the  way,  if 
she—  " 

Valore  sprung  to  his  feet  and  drew  a  pistol  from  his 
pocket. 

"  Stop!  stop,  sir  !  By  my  soul,  sir,  if  you  make  that  vile 
suggestion  about  Erma  Chartrass  in  my  presence,  I  will  shoot 
you  down  like  a  dog  if  you  were  one  hundred  times  my 
sister's  son." 

Mrs.  Valore  ran  in  between  her  irate  husband  and  Dale. 

"  Colonel  Valore,  you  forget  yourself,  sir.  You  forget 
yourself." 

"  Let  us  have  no  words,  Clarissa.  But  my  dear  old  friend's 
daughter  shall  be  respected  in  my  presence." 

» Indeed  !  " 

Valore  paid  no  attentien  to  the  gadfly.  He  turned  to 
Dale. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  go  to  Erma  ?" 


DAUGHTER    OF    A    SLAVE.  415 

"  No,  he  does  not !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Valore. 

"  I  ask  you,  sir  !  " 

"  No,  uncle  !  " 

"  Drop  the  uncle,  if  you  please.     Drop  it   now  and  here- 
after.    Do  you  intend  to  have  the  marriage  annulled  ?" 

"Yes,  he  does  !"  snapped  gadfly. 

"  I  ask  you  again  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  answered  Dale. 

"  Where  are  her  bonds  ?  " 

"What  bonds?" 

"  The  government  bonds  left  her  by  her  father." 

"  Some  I  have  used." 

''And  the  others  ?" 

''  I  have  them." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  About  $50,000." 

"  Give  them  to  me,  sir  ?" 

"To  you!     For  what?" 

"  To  deliver  to  Erma." 

"  Ah  ! " 

"  What  foolishness  !  "  cried  the  gadfly. 

''  Where  are  they — the  bonds  ?  "  persisted  Valore. 

"I  must  see  about  my  right  to  them." 

"  You  will  not  give  them  up  ?  You  will  not  surrender 
them?" 

"  If  the  law  compels  me." 

"  You  turn  Erma  away  from  you !  You  break  her 
heart ! " 

"  Pish  !  negress  !  "  sputtered  the  gadfly. 

"  xVnd  yet  you  keep  her  money.  You  are  a  scoun- 
drel " 

Dale  made  a  step  toward  Valore,  and  raised  his  arm. 

"  If  you  were  not  my  uncle " 

"  Drop  that  word  !  I  am  no  uncle  of  yours,  miserable 
cur  !  No  uncle  of  yours  !  Out  of  my  house  !  Out  this  in- 
stant !     Out  !   out !   out  !  " 

Under  the  pelting  of  the  old  man's  wrath,  Dale  Cartier 
hurried  away  from  the  room  and  the  house. 


416  BRISTLING    WITH    TIIOKXS. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  alone. 

The  gadfly  buzzed. 

"  Colonel  Valore,  have  you  lost  your  senses  ?" 

"  Would  to  God,  Clarissa,  that  1  had." 

"  You  act  like  it !  Indeed  you  do,  defending  that 
woman.'- 

"  My  dear  Cliartrass's  daughter." 

*'  A  negress  !  " 

"  If  she  was  twice  a  negress,  she  has  been  a  pure  woman, 
a  devoted  wife  and  an  angelic  mother." 

"  You  make  me  sick." 

"  Clarissa !  " 

"  You  must  cease  this,  Gersham.     It  is  intolerable." 

"  Cease  defending  and  befriending  Erma  !  " 

"  Cease  talking  of  that  negress." 

"  Clarissa  !  "  He  turned  his  face  toward  the  ceiling,  raised 
his  open  hand  above  his  head,  "  May  the  good  Father  in 
Heaven  desert  me  when  I  desert  that  poor,  suffering,  abused 
girl." 

The  gadfly  walked  up  before  him. 

Her  hands  were  on  her  hips. 

Her  elbows  were  bent. 

Her  cap  frills  were  dancing  in  his  eyes. 

"  Colonel  Valore,  if  you  ever  open  your  mouth  to  that 
negress  again,  I  will  never  speak  to  you  afterward  as  long  as  I 
live.     Never!     Never!     Never!" 

Valore  leaned  forward  on  his  cane  and  looked  earnestly 
into  the  face  of  his  wife,  and  slowly  answered  : 

"Clarissa,  in  one  year  more  it  will  be  half  a  century  since 
we  were  married.  I  have  loved  you  all  these  years,  and — I 
love  you  now,  Clarissa,  as  much  as  I  did  when  we  were 
first  married.  It  would  pain  me,  Clarissa — deeply — deeply, 
more  than  I  can  say,  Clarissa,  if  you  would  pursue  the  course 
you  threaten." 

His  lips  were  tremulous  and  his  voice  broken  with  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  will  !  I  will,  I  will !  "  sereamed  the  gadfly. 


DAUGHTER    OF    A    SLAVE.  417 

"  May  God  forgive  you,  as  I  will,  for  any  suffering  you 
cause  to  me." 

"  Pish  !  " 

"  But,  Clarissa,  I  shall  do  my  duty  to  Erma." 

*'  Neo;ress  !     Neo-ress  !     Ne2:ress  !  " 

"  If  all  the  world  turned  against  me  !  " 

"  You  will  ?  " 

*'  I  will,  Clarissa  !  Heaven  help  me,  dear.  I  can  do  no 
other." 

"  Then  we  may  as  well  begin  now." 

She  turned  and  marched  out  of  the  room,  and  so  they 
parted. 

In  the  morning  Valore  saw  Erma. 

She  had  passed  the  night  in  her  parlor  sleepless. 

She  soon  understood  that  it  was  decided  Dale  and  she 
must  part. 

The  moment  she  understood  it  she  looked  like  one  stricken 
with  death. 

She  said  she  would  go  away. 

"  Yes.  I  will  go  away.  It  will  be  better  for  Dale.  How 
can  I  endure  it,  to  live  here  near  him,  a  gulf  between  us  ? 
And  how  can  he  endure  it  ?     It  must  pain  him  so  !  " 

Then  she  fell  to  sobbing. 

Valore  agreed  it  was  better  to  go  away. 

But  she  could  not  go  without  seeing  Dale. 

"  For  one  minute,  only  one  minute  !  one  look  !  one  word  ! '' 
So  she  pleaded. 

Valore  overcame  his  repugnance  so  far  as  to  convey  tho 
request  to  Cartier. 

Dale  "hemm'd"  and  "haw'd"  and  finally  consented. 

*'  It  would  do  no  good,  but  he  would  go." 

He  came. 

Erma  was  an  eager  furnace. 

Dale  was  an  iceberg,  with  his  face  wrapped  in  clouds. 

Erma  opened  her  arms. 

No! 

Dale  would  not  embrace  her. 
27 


418  BRISTLING    WITH    THOKNS. 

She  flung  herself  at  his  feet  and  twined  her  arms  about  his 
ankles. 

''  Oh,  Dale,  speak  to  me.  One  word,  Dale,  only  one  word. 
Not  one  !  not  one  !  never  again  !  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  ! 
And  shall  I  see  you  never  more  —  never  more!  Ou-u  ! 
Ou-u  !  " 

And  she  lay  shivering  and  moaning  on  the  floor  kissing 
his  feet. 

His  children  twined  their  arms  about  him. 

They  looked  up  in  his  face. 

They  called  him  "papa,"  and  begged  for  one  kiss,  *' only 
one,  papa  ! " 

His  denial  was  to  tear  himself  away  and  rush  from  the 
house. 

Erma  lay  inanimate  and  senseless  behind  him  on  the  floor. 

Valore  was  not  present. 

He  said  to  Mrs.  Trenhom  afterwards  : 

'*  I  dare  not  be  there.  T  knew  how  it  would  be,  and — I 
would  have  killed  him.     I  know  I  would." 

When  Mrs.  Trenhom  turned  her  face  away  northward 
from  the  orraves  of  her  loved  ones,  Erma,  lior  two  children  and 
Valore  went  with  her. 

It  miorht  do  the  suff'erer  o-ood  to  be  with  Mrs.  Trenhom. 
They  were  such  old  friends. 

So  thought  Valore  and  he  hastened  the  departure. 

All  the  long  journey  from  Slimpton  to  Washington  Erma 
sat  in  the  corner  of  the  seat  close  in  by  the  window. 

Her  eyes  were  never  closed. 

She  never  ceased  trembling  and  moaning,  "  Ou  u  !  ou-u  ! " 
It  was  pitiful  to  hear. 

The  stoniest  hearts  in  the  car  were  melted  to  tears. 

At  Washington  they  bore  her  to  a  hotel  and  laid  her 
in  bed. 

Through  the  long  night  the  moaning  continued,  only 
broken  with  one  word,  "  Dale  !  Dale  !  Dale  ! " 

Valore,  Mrs.  Trenhom,  and  her  two  daughters  watched  by 
her  bedside. 

Toward  morning  the  murmurs  became  fainter. 


DAUGHTER   OF   A    SLAVE.  419 

Mrs.  Trenhom's  fingers  were  on  her  pulse. 

As  the  soft  light  of  the  new  day  crept  into  the  sky  Mrs. 
Trenhom  stood  up  with  a  startled  look  in  her  eyes  and  whis- 
pered to  Valore  : 

*'She  is  dying!" 

Valore  quickly  bent  down  over  the  sufferer  in  the  bed. 

"  Erma  !     Erma  !     Can  you  hear  me  ?  " 

Her  eyelids  drooped. 

"God  helping  me,  I  will  be  a  father  to  your  children." 

Erma  drew  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  held  it  there. 


420  BEISTLi.NG    Wliii    TiiOliNS. 


CHAPTER  XLl. 

SOMETHING    BETTER   THAX    PREJUDICE. 

Mrs.  Trenhom,  looking  down  upon  the  glassy  eyes  and 
pallid  face  of  Ernia  Cartier  and  feeling  the  chill  that  came 
into  her  hands,  believed  it  was  dissolution.  In  this  belief  she 
had  whispered  to  Col.  Valore,  "  She  is  dying  !  "  Happily  the 
physician  who  had  been  attending  her,  entered  the  room  at 
that  moment  and  stood  by  the  bedside. 

While  Erma's  children  and  friends  were  abandoning  them- 
selves to  despair,  the  man  of  science  was  investigating.  That 
is  the  use  of  science.  It  examiaies  and  tests.  The  friends 
moaned  and  wrung  their  hands  ;  the  man  of  science  was  much 
more  practical.  He  used  his  ears  and  a  looking-glass.  By 
the  aid  of  these,  he  was  able  to  detect  a  cheat.  It  was  not 
death.  It  was  death's  counterfeit,  syncope.  Then  a  struggle 
began,  science  against  syncope,  for  a  flickering,  languid  life. 

When  Erma's  sense  was  restored,  the  man  of  science 
brought  another  element  to  his  aid — that  was  the  children. 

One  love  was  tearing  down  ;  he  put  another  love  over 
against  it  to  build  up. 

It  was  love  against  love. 

Mother  love  against  wife  love. 

If  this  was  the  teaching  of  his  science  then  science  is  wise. 

Mother  love  once  roused  fought  valiantly  on  the  side  of 
the  doctor  and  life. 

It  was  a  tedious  contest,  there  was  so  little  life  in  her 
when  it  began,  but  the  doctor  and  mother  love  won. 

A  rnorninij  came  when  Erma  could  leave  her  bed.  Kate 
Huntley  was  there  with  Mrs.  Trenhom  and  the  children  to 
help  her  out,  and  then  when  she  was  comfortably  placed  in  a 
chair,  Col.  Valore  came.     The  old  man  was  charming  in  his 


SOMETHING  BETTER   THAN    PREJUDICE.  421 

delight.  He  laid  his  hands  on  Erma's  head,  then  he  kissed 
her  and  said,  "Thank  God,  dear."  After  that  he  snapped  his 
fingers,  dropped  his  cane,  and  waltzed  around  the  room  with 
Erma's  children.  Erma  laughed,  the  children  and  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ley clapped  their  hands  and  vowed  that  Valore  was  as  "  nimble 
as  a  cricket."  Valore  laughed  too  ;  but  they  could  see  two 
great  drops  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  as  he  added,  "  Ah  !  if 
Clarissa  were  only  here  I  would  be  the  happiest  old  boy  !  " 

A  few  days  later,  Erma  was  able  to  travel.  There  was 
a  tender  parting  with  Mrs.  Trenhom,  who,  having  found 
employment  in  a  government  office,  remained  in  Washington. 
Then  Kate  Huntley  carried  Erma,  her  children  and  Col. 
Valore  away  with  her  to  her  new  home  among  the  Berkshire 
Hills.  There  three  months  passed  away.  Erma  gathered 
strength.  Neighbors  came  to  see  them.  New  friendships 
were  formed  ;  new  likings  grew  into  their  lives,  and  Valore, 
in  the  church  and  the  village,  where  he  was  soon  known  to 
everyone,  became  a  prime  favorite.  All  this  time,  the  Colonel 
was  sadly  torn.  He  felt  that  his  duty,  for  the  present,  at  least, 
was  with  Erma  and  her  children  ;  but  iiis  heart  was  far  away 
with  the  wife  of  nearly  half  a  century.  Not  a  day  passed 
without  his  saying  something  to  Kate  Huntley,  Erma  and  her 
children  about  Clarissa.  How  she  looked  as  a  girl  ;  what  she 
wore  when  they  were  married,  and  the  many,  many  happy 
days  they  spent  together.  And  every  Monday  he  wrote. 
They  all  soon  came  to  know  it.  That  was  "  Uncle  Gersh's  let- 
ter day."  But  in  all  these  weeks  there  came  no  answer  to  his 
letters — not  a  word.  At  first  Valore  hoped.  Then  he  went 
regularly  to  the  little  post-office.  At  last  he  gave  it  up.  But 
some  one  of  the  others  went  every  day.  Then  they  would 
whisper  to  each  other,  "  Oh  !  if  I  were  only  Aunt  Clarissa, 
I  would  write  to  dear,  dear  Uncle  Gersh  !  " 

At  the  end  of  three  months  a  carriage  drove  up  from  the 
depot  and  paused  in  front  of  the  door.  The  girls  heard  it 
stop.  That  may  sound  like  a  solecism,  but  it  is  a  fact.  The 
carriage  door  opened  and  a  lady  stepped  out.  The  children 
saw  her  and  cried  "  oh  ! "  Erma  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  echoed  "oh!"     Then  Valore  looked,  and  he — he  never 


422  BRISTLING    WITH    THORNS. 

said  a  word,  but  dropped  his  cane  and  ran  out  of  the  door. 
In  the  garden,  Valore  threw  his  arms  about  the  woman  and 
cried  **  Clarissa,"  and  she  pulled  down  his  face  and  kissed  him 
as  she  answered  "Gersham." 

Then  she  took  his  arm.  As  she  walked  toward  the  house 
she  said  to  him,  "  I  tried  to  keep  it  up,  Gersham,  but  I  couldn't 
do  it."  Valore's  tremulous  lips  were  silent,  but  he  pressed 
the  arm  resting  in  his  own  closer  to  his  side. 

"More  than  half  of  me,"  continued  his  wife,  "  was  here, 
and  I've  brought  the  other  half  to  stay  with  it."  Valore 
found  tongue  to  answer  "Don't  say  another  word  about  it, 
Clarissa,  we  have  been  separated  but  never  apart."  Then 
they  entered  the  house. 

To  Kate  Huntley,  Erma  and  her  children,  Mrs.  Valore 
extended  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  It  was  evidently  Valore 
and  not  them  she  came  to  see.  During  the  evening  they 
were  all  uneasy  ;  they  tried  to  define  their  relation  to  Mrs. 
Valore.  The  Colonel  had  but  one  word  of  advice,  "  Wait, 
fretting  don't  open  flower  buds ;  spurring  won't  hasten 
to-morrow."  Wise  saws.  His  was  the  philosophy  of 
contented  happiness.  Waiting  had  won  for  him,  why  not 
for  them.  But  the  same  answerinor  tliouo-ht  was  in  all  the 
other  minds,  "  She  is  not  my  wife." 

Geese  !     Wives  are  sometimes  the  most  implacable  haters. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Valore  was  complaining.  Then 
followed  a  low  fever.  It  was  not  serious,  but  it  confined  her 
to  her  bed,  and  required  care  and  attention. 

It  was  then  that  Kate  Huntley  and  Erma  came  out  strong. 
They  were  a  combination  of  prudence  and  devotion.  Then 
came  the  neighbors,  first  to  inquire,  then  to  act.  They 
brought  little  tid-bits,  they  robbed  their  conservatories  of 
flowers  for  the  sick-room,  and  they  sat  up  nights  with  Mrs. 
Valore  when  she  was  at  the  worst.  Afterwards,  when  she  was 
convalescent,  they  came  and  amused  her  with  gossip  of  the 
neighborhood,  qi^ite  as  entertaining  to  some  women  as  the 
brightest  of  books. 

One  day  after  her  visitors  had  departed,  this  conversation 
occurred. 


SOMETHING    BETTER    THAX    PREJUDICE.  423 

"Gersham,  they  are  a  charming  people." 

"  Of  course  they  are." 

"I  think  I  could  love  them." 

'*  I  know  I  do." 

"  Ah  !  you  truant  !  " 

"Especially  the  pretty  girl  who  brought  you  this,"  picking 
up  a  little  basket  of  flowers  and  putting  them  to  his  lips. 

"  I  must  get  well  to  look  after  you." 

*'x\nd  that  white  haired  lady  who  has  just  departed." 

"Ah,  indeed!" 

"  She  looks  so  much  like  you." 

"  You  flatterer  !  " 

Valore  put  his  hand  over  his  heart  and  bowed.  After 
a  few  moments'  silence  Mrs   Valore  spoke  again. 

"  Gersham,  sometimes  I  think  if  our  friends  at  home  knew 
these  people  better,  it  would  be  diff'erent." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  it.  For  years  we  have  been  playing 
at  misconceptions  on  both  sides." 

"  And  will  it  never  end,  Gersham  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Clarissa,  when  we  know  each  other  better.  There  is 
half  a  cure  in  commingling.  With  that  comes  better  knowl- 
edge, and  transfusion  of  ideas.  For  the  other  half,  we  must 
depend  on  ourselves.  Our  best  people  in  the  South  must  not 
shrink  from  looking  squarely  at  the  abuses  we  have  suff'ered  to 
grow  rather  than  created,  and  must  combine  to  compel  their 
cessation." 

"  Since  I  have  known  these  dear  people,  I  begin  to  wish  it 
could  be." 

,     "It  will  be,  Clarissa,  when  we  see  the  North  as  it  is  and 
ourselves  as  we  are." 

On  the  evening  of  this  conversation,  while  Erma's  oldest 
daughter  was  smoothing  the  invalid's  pillows  before  she 
retired,  Mrs.  Valore  drew  the  young  head  to  her  and  whispered 
in  her  ear,  "  Rissy,  sleep  with  your  old  aunty  to-night  !  " 

Rissy  (her  name  was  Clarissa,  after  Mrs.  Valore)  assented, 
then  slipped  away  and  told  her  mother.  The  news  was  too 
good  to  keep.  Erma  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 
She    waltzed  around  the    room  on   her  tip-toes,   and  hugged 


424  r.iiisTi.iNG   WITH  thorns. 

everyone  witliin  reach.  Valore  pulled  her  little  pink  ears. 
Then  she  mounted  a  cliair  and  waved  her  hands  over  her  head, 
as  much  as  to  say  "three  cheers  and  a  tii^er,"  very  silently  of 
course. 

Tiie  next  morninjr,  when  Erma  entered  the  bed  room  to 
wake  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Valore  caught  her  hand,  drew  her  face 
down  to  her  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  "  Erma,  forgive 
an  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Valore." 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Valore,  indeed.  Aunt  Rissy;  remember  that, 
dear,  your  Aunty  Rissy." 

"  Yes,  dear  Auiit  Rissy." 

And  she  pressed  kiss  after  kiss  upon  her  wrinkled  lips  and 
cheek.  Just  then  Kate  Huntley  and  Erma's  youngest 
daughter  entered  the  room  and  both  came  in  for  a  share  of  the 
embracing.  As  Kate  and  Erma  danced  around,  helping  Mrs. 
Valore  to  dress,  she  looked  on  with  glad  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
when  they  were  through,  Col.  Valore  entered  the  room  to 
escort  his  wife  to  the  breakfast-room.  She  whispered  in  his 
ears,  "  Gersham,  there  is  something  better  than  prejudice." 
Then    she  crave  one  arm  to  Erma  and  another  to  Kate  and 

CD 

walked  away  between  them.  Col.  Valore,  with  "  Rissy " 
on  one  side  and  her  sister  on  the  other  bringing  up  the  rear. 
And  they  all  assembled  about  the  breakfast-table,  with  the 
echo  of  a  thousand  cheers  in  their  hearts. 

THE    EXD. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
97 


